


Structure

by Setaflow



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Gen, Pretty much how Morty and Summer break Rick out of prison, Probably all of this will be null and void once season 3 comes out but hey a girl can dream right?, Some different ideas I wanted to speculate with, Sort of Bounty-Hunter AU but not really, some language, some murder, some violence, takes place post season 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-05-02 23:03:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 81,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5267213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setaflow/pseuds/Setaflow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their adventures over, Morty and Summer Smith are caught under the hands of the Galactic Federation, thinking Rick has abandoned them.  But when complications arise and the galaxy is thrown out of balance, they realize that the only way to save the dimensions is to save their grandfather.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Water and Wine

**Author's Note:**

> So I really really miss Rick and Morty and I thought I'd give my spin on what will happen to the characters after the Season 2 finale (God rest my soul because that thing was just a giant punch to the fucking gut).
> 
> First chapters pretty much a prologue/exposition dump, so the real meat of the story will start in Chapter 2. I had a lot of fun writing this but I do have some other stories I need to work on so my updates will try to be regular but I can make no promises.
> 
> I don't own anything in Rick and Morty except for the characters I created. Enjoy!

All his life, Morty couldn’t really remember ever wanting to be like anyone. 

He never had an idol growing up, unless you counted the sports stars he saw on Sunday Night Football, and for a little bit he thought he’d look up to someone like Peyton Manning until he discovered that his love for sports could never compete with his lack of talent for the real thing.  He spent the last fourteen years of his existence sort of wandering aimlessly, wondering where he was going with his life.  He wasn’t super smart, nor athletic, nor talented.  He felt like a bargain-brand human; the off-brand kind you could buy cheap in a grocery store that was never as good as the real thing.  Totally generic.  Totally unremarkable.

He thought everything would have changed with the arrival of his estranged grandfather one autumn day a few years ago.  When he opened the door to a lanky, gray haired, balding man in a lab coat who looked like he had taken one too many shots of bourbon before coming.  He had heavy circles around his eyes, and they held a clouded and disinterested look in them.  Morty wasn’t too lost on the concept of drunkenness—his mother got drunk on wine so much that she resorted to buying three cases of boxed wine a week at Costco, much to his sister’s disdain—but this strange man took it to a whole new level.  He eyed Morty carefully, his gaze full of intelligence behind that cloud of alcohol.  Something shot up Morty’s spine in that moment, because this man was staring at him like he already had met him.

“H-hey, M-k _-urrp-_ kid,” the man greeted Morty with a less than dignified burp.  “Your mom around?”

Morty hesitated.  The old man didn’t even give him a name.  Instead, his mouth twisted into a smile as he reached into his lab coat and pulled out a flask.

“Not v-very talkative, eh kid?”

Morty was at a loss for words.

“No matter,” the man proceeded to barge through Morty and collapse on the couch in the living room, downing the remainder of his drink in one swift motion.  “I’ll jus _-urrrp-_ just wait he-here until she gets back.”

Not really sure what to do, Morty retreated up the stairs to his room and kept one ear out for any signs of trouble.  He did his homework from the top of the stairs, one eye trained on this man who did nothing but lounge and drink on the couch.  When his parents came back, Morty retired back to his room for a second time.  He came down the stairs after the old man and his parents engaged in a shouting match that lasted until the nighttime.  Grabbing a can of soda, Morty found the old man passed out on the couch, and Morty’s mother hastily explained the situation.  How this tired, dirty, drunk old man was not only his grandfather, but now a part of the family.

“Your Grandpa Rick will be a great companion, Morty,” Beth finished with that.  “He’s so smart, and he’s always wanted to meet you.  He’s a great scientist, you know.  He’ll love to show you his inventions.  He used to do that with me when I was a kid.  Who knows—maybe you’ll even want to be a scientist when you grow up?  I know Dad would love that.”

There was a hurt in his mother’s eyes that Morty couldn’t really comprehend.  She seemed so sincere in talking about this man who had been her father, yet who had also abandoned her when she was only his age.  Morty couldn’t help but glance at this man, Rick.  He was snoring, alcohol dripping down his chin, looking like a mess. 

His mother must’ve noticed it too.  Morty didn’t miss her slight cringe.  “Just…just give him a chance, okay?” she asked politely. There was a hint of begging in her voice that made Morty squirm guiltily.  “Please?  He might not look like it, but my dad’s a good guy.  And, well, you deserve to know your grandfather.” 

A scientist?  Morty never considered being a scientist.  He never really disliked his science classes and was much more at ease with those subjects when he was younger.  Maybe this was a good idea.  Only, was his grandfather Rick, a drunk old man, the right person to do it with?

Beth must have sensed his doubts.  “Can you try, Morty?  Just for a little while?” she placed a hand on his shoulder.  “Promise me?”

Morty promised her.

What followed was two years of insanity as Rick dragged him across dimensions.  What Morty had assumed would be pure scientific fun and innocence had dissolved into munitions runs, liquor binges, a blown up planet or two, and more deaths than Morty could even comprehend.  Rick, long since jaded with the perils of space travel, never batted an eye to the craziness that the universe had to offer, and often scoffed when Morty reacted how he did.  In Morty’s eyes, it was perfectly normal to have a panic attack after seeing a strange alien creature tear another to shreds because it’s handwriting was too crooked (“it’s common, Morty; Trufflewups pride the _-urrp-_ emselves on craftsmanship”).  Near-death experiences, burying his own body, memory-infesting parasites, spending months among a tribe of primitive tree-people.  It was all too much for him to take at times.  All of this was confirming only one thought throughout Morty’s head; that he did _not_ want to be a scientist when he grew up.  At least, not if it meant becoming like Rick.

In retrospect, it wasn’t _all_ bad.  Sort of like how a roller-coaster was all good until you stepped off and puked on the way down the stairs.  Of all the memories he had with his grandfather, maybe about five or ten percent of them were decent.  Driving through the highway of stars like it was Route 66 would always be a favorite of his.  Some of the worlds were interesting when Morty could actually take in his surroundings.  And when Rick wasn’t drunk, high, or berating him—those times few and far between—he could actually be sweet in his own weird Rick-ish way. 

Back on Earth after every adventure he, Rick, and sometimes Summer would find themselves on, Morty would curl up into his bed for a few precious hours of sleep.  He’d always pass out pretty quickly.  Maybe wake up safely the next morning to breakfast from his mother.  His sister pretending to ignore them from the top of her phone.  His father keeping the family entertained in his own dumb way.  Home was a safety net.  It changed sometimes, but not forever.  And not always for the worse. 

So when the buildings dropped from the sky, Morty felt his last sense of innocence drain away.

And he meant literally dropping out of the sky.  When the Federation came, they brought their own buildings.  Sixty stories of alien metal came crashing through downtown.  With them came the ships.  The aliens.  The tourists.

Morty couldn’t recall the wedding with sharp detail anymore.  He supposed he’d blocked most of it out in the wake of all that had happened since.  There was a murder.  An assassination, more like.  The five of them fled to some dwarf planet in fear, Rick proclaiming that they’d never live in peace and safety again.  That his safety net was probably overrun with aliens who’d view him more as an attraction than a person.  He remembered his grandfather: his asshole, abusive grandfather, taking off without him to save his own skin.  He still remembered his feeble attempt to stop Rick from going; it played over and over in his head every night like a broken tape.

“Rick, I can handle it if you go,”

_Liar._

“but you’ll break Mom’s heart,”

_You can’t do this to me._

“and I won’t forgive you for that.”

_Promise me.  Promise me you won’t leave._

But he didn’t promise.  Rick did leave.  And Morty had never felt more powerless and alone.

Morty should’ve hated Rick.  In some ways, he figured he must’ve, because the first thing he wanted to do was to punch Rick if he ever saw him again.

But in that moment, and for every moment after, all Morty could do was cry. 

It was stupid and ridiculous, and Morty resented himself for doing it.  But goddamnit, he missed Rick so fucking much.  It was absurd how miserable he felt with the absence of this disgusting man.  But this disgusting man was part of the family, no matter what happened to him, no matter how far away he ran. 

The Smith family was picked up after nine days (or about two hours) and were quickly put on a shuttle back to Earth.  Only, it wasn’t Earth as Morty had remembered.  It was now packed and crowded, almost suffocating with the millions of alien tourists that wanted to visit on some sort of vacation and gawk at the locals.  Robots wheeled around, offering assistance to any passerby.  Aliens of all different shades and sizes and types, some Morty recognized and some he didn’t, milled around and took photos or ate food.  One alien rushed up to Summer and tried to take a picture of her, but his sister was clearly having none of it.  She yelped with shock and pushed the alien away, nearly making it break the camera.  Creatures all around the Smith family muttered darkly to each other and cast stolen glances over to Summer, who clutched her elbows and looked away in disgust.

His father managed to flag down a taxi and they crowded into the back seats, staring out the windows to see the new world that had stepped on the old.  Massive structures that Morty could have sworn weren’t there before stood on every corner.  There were some new restaurants on the streets, packed booth to booth with aliens and nothing else.  Every billboard was written in those rune languages that Rick could translate but Morty was lost upon.  They seemed to advertise different popular locations on Earth.  The Statue of Liberty.  The Eiffel Tower.  The world’s largest rubber band ball.  Popular tourist places, Morty realized.  That was what Earth was now.  A giant, federally run tourist trap, like a national park.  The comprehension sent his heart sinking.

The suburbs were fairly less crowded than the city, so Morty was thankful when the taxi pulled in front of the house and there was nothing in front of it like it was Stonehenge.  The four of them paid the driver, headed into the house, and three of the four members of the family went upstairs to sleep off what had happened.  His mother stayed downstairs; Morty figured she was going to indulge in some wine first.  Maybe it was the right thing to do.  Morty felt like he could use a drink himself.

Six months had passed since then, and Rick never came back.  Never sent a letter, never stopped by in the middle of the night.  Never gave any sign of where he was.  Time passed slowly now that Rick was gone.  No longer did Morty go on wild adventures with his grandfather, exploring the furthest corners of the galaxy with him.  He found himself feeling almost a certain nostalgia for the days he spent running for his life.  When he actually felt occupied during the weeks that passed.  Nowadays, Morty felt stagnant—trapped in a world that was going by much too fast for him.  Especially with the Federation changing the Earth into the galaxy’s prime attraction. 

Rick’s presence in the house faded quickly like an old smell.  No longer did the four of them argue about trivial problems over breakfast, nor dispute about Morty’s schoolwork or his friends or anything else about the matter.  They behaved almost like a normal family.

It bored Morty to no end.

Granted, Rick’s presence wasn’t always the best.  He did start a lot of fights and he was generally unpleasant to the normal person, but he was like a cog in the machine.  Sure, they could work without him, but there was that constant, echoing feeling that served as a reminder of their missing piece.  Or at least, it served as a reminder to Morty, and for a while, he thought he was the only one.

It happened during the summer, when his sister was beginning her college applications.  She had been spending the past half hour pouring over the common application and filling out the basic information, Beth and Jerry at her side.  When Summer reached the desired major part of the forms, however, she hesitated.

“Well, Summer, what do you want to study?” Jerry had asked her.  Morty, watching TV from the couch, twisted his head slightly to hear the conversation.

Summer continued to waver. She was now biting her lip, and Beth and Jerry exchanged a concerned glance.  Finally, she said something, but it was so soft that Morty couldn’t hear it.

“Engineering?” his mother piped up, clearly bewildered at the choice.  “Since when have you been interested in engineering?”

Summer cast a helpless look to her brother, which caught Morty off-guard.  Biting her lip again and sensing her brother wasn’t going to give her help, she turned around and began to mumble.  “Grandpa…he said once that I could be a good engineer.  He said that I should give it a try.  I just...I just thought…"

The following silence was so heavy that Morty practically sprinted back up to his room and blared music to drown out his resurfacing thoughts.  Just once, he wanted to go so mind-numbingly blank and to not think about Rick, but he knew that could never happen.

After that moment, Morty kept a closer eye on his sister and what he saw surprised him.  He never noticed that she was spending much more time in the house, refusing to go out or to go to parties or to hang out with her friends from school even though she probably never lacked in opportunity.  The time she spent clicking away on her phone was now devoted to mobile games that made it seem like she was texting and communicating with her classmates.  Once, in a time that didn’t really make him proud, Morty snuck into his sister’s room and poured through her apps.  She’d sent a few texts to him and their parents, but almost all the girls and boys her age had unanswered messages of some sort.  Facebook was a mess with neglected invites and ignored messages.  She was completely shutting herself out.

It baffled Morty that Summer, who once would have eaten her own foot if it meant that she could have been popular, would be distancing herself from everything in relation until it clicked for him one night.  Tammy was popular, and they’d been good friends before the whole wedding fiasco.  Enough to invite Summer in the first place.  Or, so she thought, until his sister realized that Rick was a wanted intergalactic terrorist.  After that nice little betrayal, it wasn’t really a shock that Summer was keeping herself so aloof.  Broken trust was hard to mend; Morty knew that firsthand.

The more he looked, the more he noticed the little things.  Like how his mother seemed to be dumping more and more bottles of wine into the garbage can every week when Morty wheeling the recycling out.  Or how he’d caught Summer more than once in Rick’s old room or in the garage, looking through the tools and blueprints.  It comforted Morty to know that he wasn’t alone in his grief. 

The only truly happy person seemed to be his own father, who now had a steady job working for the government.  Morty didn’t really know what it was he did.  Something with filing and reporting that of course served his skills in civics.  Jerry didn’t miss Rick, and that didn’t surprise Morty, Summer, or his mother.  It was something that put him and his wife at constant odds, but Beth would never ditch Jerry, no matter how much she probably wished she could.  Not to mention that Jerry was bringing back surprisingly good money from his job at the Federation.  He paid off his debt for the anti-depressants relatively quickly and the rest went back into the bank accounts.  It was so much that Beth almost didn’t even need to work anymore, but she never gave up her job at the clinic.  Morty didn’t know why, but he figured his mother would probably go insane if she wasn’t occupying herself for a majority of the day.

The rumors of what the Federation was actually doing were always on the tip of everybody’s tongue.  Like people wanted to say them aloud, but there was some unspoken fear that prevented them from speaking their mind.  The entire thing was wrapped in an air of mystery.  The reason for the governments submitting themselves to the Federation was kept a secret, and speculation ran wild.  Some said that they were forced into it.  Others said it was mutual agreement.  The most popular opinion was that Earth sought to join for protection after gaining new knowledge of otherworldly intelligent life due to events of the past year (many of which Morty had a firm hand in either causing or fixing).  Most said it wasn’t too bad, because the Federation offered them galactic protection for what they considered to be a very small price.

Morty wasn’t too sure. 

There were very few things Rick said that Morty would trust right off the bat, but the way he spoke about the Federation made his insides crawl with doubts.  How could they be good when they killed someone in cold blood, with a teenage deep-cover agent posing as his wife?  The Federation may be treating them like equals in the eyes of the populace, but Morty wasn’t fooled.

_They think they can control the galaxy; I disagree.  Don’t hate the player, hate the game, son._

Those words rattled around in the back of Morty’s head.  Keeping him on edge.  Keeping him in line. 

Summer vacation passed by and school started back up again.  The Federation was not too subtly making changes all over the world, but Morty never assumed that it would affect him too seriously.  That changed when Morty headed to his first class of the day and was shocked to discover that the walls outside of all the rooms were replaced with glass.

“Wha-what’s going o-on?” Morty had mumbled aloud, more to himself.  A few kids shrugged a response. 

It didn’t take very long for Morty to get an answer.  When the class started, the wall was suddenly crowded with alien tourists.  Morty could see a few kids shuffle uncomfortably in their seats under the gaze of hundreds of eyes.  When the teacher spoke up, or when a kid gave an answer, the aliens would howl and hoot and cheer with glee in a way that made Morty’s insides fizzle.  Then came the flashes of the camera, the glass doing nothing to stop the blinding lights.

They were less of a destination at this point, it quickly dawned on him.  They were a zoo.  Something to be gawked at.

The crowds of aliens roamed the halls during the day and made traversing from class to class difficult.  They stared with their hundreds of eyes, pressing faces against the class.  “Federal requirement,” was what the principal said over the loudspeaker about the change.  Some kids were so scared shitless that they didn’t bother coming to class after a few days.  Of the ones who stayed, some had panic attacks, others cried a few times a day.  From what Morty could tell, the aliens found it interesting, a source of entertainment, like this was normal human behavior.  But no matter what they felt, no one dared to speak up to one of the aliens.  Lunch was easily the worst. Morty would sit off at the end of a crowded lunch table, picking through his lunch halfheartedly with a fork.  The tourists were, of course, allowed into the cafeteria, and were even offered free samples of some of the lunch food.  Some of the younger ones were rowdy, and with no barriers to protect them, would often lose control.  Grabbing skirts, hair, and legs.  Throwing their free samples at the students without consequence.  Lunch was now mostly spent in silence for everyone as they tried to eat speedily to get away from the ogling creatures.  Some even took their meals to the bathroom, desperate for privacy.  Summer had gotten her drivers license and now went home for lunch every day.  Lucky.

The new school environment led to strange shifts in the social circle, because now everyone was so scared with their surroundings that the idea of leaving someone alone in a potentially hostile situation would be guilt-racking.  Pretty soon, even those on the lowest tiers of the social ladder were absorbed by the larger circle of people. Brad studied with some Chris from his math class.  Jessica walked close through the halls with Laurie from the band club. But hey, at least they weren’t picking on anyone anymore.

It was interesting to hear everyone’s speculations about the aliens, especially considering Morty knew a small portion from his former adventures.  Faux names flew around for certain species of aliens that were common visitors in the halls.  Purple-tongues, Spot-backs, that sort of thing.  “There goes some six-legs,” some kid whispered to their friends as the aptly-nicknamed family of aliens crossed the hall.  Morty held his tongue, knowing full well that Sedexians probably would have hated that nickname. 

Morty only corrected his classmates once about the names of aliens, against all his better judgment.  When a group of Federation officials came in one day, everyone buzzed with both fear and curiosity.  These weren’t like the normal tourists.  They were bug-like, with compound eyes and wings and claw-like arms.  Even more terrifying was that they carried around guns—large laser rifles that could take an arm off with a single shot.

Names for these creatures spread like the flu.  Buzzers.  Bug soldiers.  Those guys with the big guns.

“They…th-they’re called Gromflomites,” Morty spoke up once at the lunch table during a naming session.  At once, everyone went silent, and Morty felt himself shrivel with the weight of everyone’s attention falling on him.

“What are they called?” some kid asked.

Morty shrugged.  “I mean, my grandpa called them Gromflomites,” Morty offered his weak excuse.  “It-it’s just…what they’re called…”

And just like that, in the span of a day, Morty was suddenly the go-to guy for alien knowledge.  It was more awkward than anything, because now every kid seemed to know his name and wanted to ask him questions that more often than not he didn’t know the answer to.  Morty tried to downplay himself.  Said he didn’t really know that much.  He didn’t even want to think about what would happen if the Federation pegged him as the grandson of an intergalactic terrorist.  But any kid that had knowledge of the aliens was an instant celebrity.  Before Morty, it was some kid a few grades above him named Jack, who claimed his father was abducted by aliens and he spent a year living with them.  But the difference was that Morty actually knew about aliens.  Or, at least, some things.  As much as he could remember from Rick.

Rick…

Morty wished Rick was here.  Morty wished Rick hadn’t left him alone to fend for himself against a Galactic Federation that had their objectives shadowed.  He wished that Rick hadn’t left his mother alone, where she spent most nights curled against the sink with a bottle of wine in her hand.  He wished that Rick hadn’t left his sister so crushed and alone and paranoid about the world.

There were times that Morty found himself in the garage or in Rick’s room.  It was probably more often than Summer visited them, not that he’d ever admit to it.  He’d dig through the blueprints and the scraps and the inventions, broken and functional alike.  He’d wonder if he could find something that could save his grandfather.  Maybe find him, bring him back to Earth.  But nothing that he found could do that.  He considered trying to rebuild a portal gun, but he had no idea how to.  He thought of calling anyone; the council of Ricks, Unity, any being he thought of as an ally.  But it was useless.

Rick’s space phone sat on the small nightstand.  Morty had tried calling it a few times but it always went to voicemail.  It was pointless, because how the fuck was Rick supposed to answer it when he didn’t have it, but it made Morty feel better anyway.

“Hey…hey Rick?  It’s Morty.  Where are you?  Ca-can you just t-tell me?  I swear…I sw-wear I won’t tell anyone…”

“Mom’s been getting dr-drunk lately, R-rick.  She misses you.  We a-all do…”

“I-I’m sorry…”

“Please come back…”

Morty would settle himself into bed, the door closed, the windows cracked a tiny bit.  Some nights, he’d find himself crying at how unfair it all was.  Others, he’d wake up Summer and the two of them would talk it out.  For most nights, he couldn’t be damned.  He’d just try to roll over and get some sleep.  Repeat the process.  Hope for a change. 

There was one night were he climbed onto the roof of the house.  He sat there for a while, above the garage.  The night air was pleasantly cool against his skin, autumn just now settling into the neighborhood.  He could see the distant glow from the faraway city, with the alien buildings twinkling madly in hundreds of colors.  There was now so much light pollution that it obscured the stars, much to Morty’s misery.  He felt contained and confined, like Earth was in a glass jar and he couldn’t get out of it.

He hoped Rick would be back soon.

He had to.


	2. The Galactic Federation and You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Please enjoy more moping.

Morty never thought he'd be excited for something as simple as privacy, but seeing no tourist aliens lined up against the science wing made him want to cry out with happiness.

It was the last period of the day, and Morty was dead on his feet. He had lumbered through two tests that morning, mashing his teeth together as he tried to ignore the constant flashing of the camera lenses as they flared with each picture. It wasn't any easier for anyone else, he could tell. A few kids winced with each shutter and some kids just turned their desks away altogether. Some kid named Leonard that Morty barely talked to flat-out left the room, shouting how he couldn't focus during the math test. He snatched the hall pass from Mr. Goldenfold and raced out into the hallway, every pair of eyes in the class on him. Some of the alien tourists let out various groans and screeches of what Morty could only assume was disappointment. Ignoring the anxiety churning in his stomach, Morty turned his head back to his test and tried to focus on his polynomials.

As he walked into his last class of the day, chemistry, it occurred to Morty that he hadn't seen Leonard since he walked out. Making a futile attempt to shove down an unpleasant feeling in his gut, Morty stepped into his classroom and was greeted with a less than comforting sight.

Instead of his teacher, there were three creatures standing at the head of the classroom. Two of them were fiddling with a projector and arguing together in grunts. The third clutched a clipboard in his (it's?) hand. A group of students milled uncertainly around by the doorway, halfway between going to their seats and halfway between bolting back out the door. A few scared kids turned to Morty, as if begging him for help.  _Please tell us what those things are_ , their expressions screamed loud and clear, but this was something Morty couldn't help them with. They were beasts he'd never seen before. They were a lumpy sort of gray in color, had no discernable neck, and had teeth protruding from their lower lips that curled around their upper. Morty counted five teeth on each creature, all of them at least six inches long. They only ever had two eyes showing at a time, but when one glassy eye closed, another somewhere else on it's face would take it's place. They sort of hunched over, probably due to the suits that they wore. The clothing strained against their backs and threatened to break apart at the seams. Their hands reached to their knees, and they had claws on each finger that were sharpened like kitchen knives. Curiously, around each of their throats were collars that had speakers on the front. Communication devices, Morty figured.

The creature with the clipboard reached his hand out, causing half the class to recoil backwards and one poor girl to careen into Morty as she attempted to rush out of the room. However, the alien only flipped a switch on it's collar. A little light on it pulsed green as it switched on.

Everyone looked at each other expectantly, wondering who would make the next move. Finally, some kid dared to speak up. "Um…," he said nervously.

A set of loud beeps from the collar set everyone jolting backwards again. Morty stood his ground, more interested than scared.

" _Earth, Dimension-C,_ " the collar reported in an electronic voice. " _English._ "

"My apologies" came a new voice from the alien. It sounded less computerized than the original voice, but there was still a distinct digital garble to it that reminded Morty that this wasn't a friend. "Our communications collars must register the new language of the planet and translate it before we can communicate in your native tongue. We are agents of the Galactic Federation, and we are here to give you a presentation. Please step up when your name is called and take your seat so we may begin in an orderly fashion."

The class let out the air it held and visibly relaxed, except for Morty. A presentation? Something about this didn't ring true to him. Aliens coming to address the school wasn't exactly something that seemed like a friendly proposition. His mind couldn't help but jump to the worst possible idea; that he was in trouble. Or, at least, something was wrong about him. Maybe he knew too much. Maybe someone ratted him out about Rick. Honestly, the possibilities were endless.

One by one, names were called by the alien with the clipboard, until it was Morty's turn to take his seat.

"Smith, Mortimer."

Morty apprehensively stepped forward. "H-here," he murmured.

The alien eyed him carefully, looking him up and down. A third eye opened on it's forehead and gave him another glance-over. Morty bit his lip in an effort to stay calm, acutely aware that with every second passing his blood was running colder and colder.

After what seemed like an eternity standing there, the agents finally waved him away with a disinterested shrug. Morty practically sprinted to his seat in the back of the classroom and collapsed into it, struggling to control his racing thoughts.

Once everyone was recorded and seated, the alien agent grabbed the remote from the other two and turned the slideshow on. The front page read  _The Galactic Federation and You!_

"Greetings," the alien addressed the class, his mouth opening wordlessly, the collar doing all the talking. "We are from the Galactic Federation. As you are aware, your planet is the latest to enter our intergalactic system. Just to know for our systems, how many people were aware of other life in space before the Federation came here?"

A few people raised their hands. The rest just looked dumbfounded. Morty kept his hand down. The less attention he drew, the better.

"Very well. We are a collection of many different planets all around the galaxy who have united under law to protect each other from all dangers," the alien continued to the next slide. "Does anyone care to give the human description of a federation?"

Now, no one dared to raise a hand.

"Come on, don't be shy," one of the other aliens encouraged, sounding a touch impatient.

Finally, one hand went up. "A-a federation is a group of partially self-governing states run under one large primary government," a girl bravely spoke up.

"Correct," responded the head agent, who clicked to the next slide. "The primary government of the Federation is one that seeks to keep all the planets happy when they are under their protection. But, with six thousand and forty-eight planets under the belt, it makes it hard, right?"

The collars broke down into computerized laughs from all three agents. Morty and his classmates could only stare back, wondering what was going on. Finally, the head agent clicked to the next slide. A diagram of a human was on this one. "Now, how do you describe yourselves?"

A few hands shot up into the air. "Um, we're...humans?" one kid half-mumbled.

"Right, right," the agent gave a nod of disinterested acknowledgement. Morty was astonished at how much disdain a communications device could convey. "Right, so, what are humans? The answer might be simpler than you think. According to the Federations, you are category T species. That puts you at a rank four protection level. We-"

All of the sudden, Jessica shot her hand up.

"Yes, erm…Julia?"

"It's Jessica. What do you mean by category T and rank four protection level?"

Instead of answering her question, the agents looked amused and unlatched their collars. Without the aid of the communications devices, the aliens spoke in guttural grunts and huffs that were unintelligible. Some of the students exchanged frightened glances to their friends. Morty felt himself stiffen in his seat.

After a few exchanges, the aliens began to laugh. At least, they broke down into what Morty thought of as laughter. They replaced their collars after that, the head agent's eyes blinking back and forth rapidly. "Let us continue," it spoke as the agent clicked to the next slide, as if nothing had happened.

If the Federation wanted to scare the class, then this was definitely a good way to do so. Some of the students looked more and more stricken after each new slide passed by. Some shot looks of longing to the classroom door, desperate to get out of it but perhaps knowing they couldn't. The confusion and speculation that Morty's classmates were thinking was so tangible, Morty figured he probably could have suffocated on it. He felt rooted to his seat, his mind jumping to new conclusions with each topic. Reading between the lines of galactic politics wasn't hard when you've been traveling through space more than you've been going to school.

"We have placed new governing systems on planets that might seem backwards in comparison. With these new forms of order, the planets have not only thrived, but become welcome contributors to the Galactic Federation."

_Political takeover._

"Planets are always happy to share their resources with the Federation. In return, we offer protection. A simple exchange, no?"

_Resource draining._

"Those who aren't capable of providing basic economic benefit for each other are introduced to new methods of working that benefit the entire Federation. Resources and products are taken away in a mutually beneficiary manner."

_Slavery._

"We have seen some resistance to our methods; some planets are simply used to the planetary mindset. It takes a while in some cases, but most planets usually come around in the end. We offer classes, even programs that help initiate the dominant species into the Federation."

_Brainwashing._

Finally, one kid dared to speak up over the next slide. Unfortunately, that kid was Morty himself.

"The Galactic Federation has been kind to species lower on the evolutionary scale than the primary government," the agent was explaining. "We see that they can care for themselves and that they can support a stable economy in the beginning, as this is all a very new experience. Worlds with very planetary mindsets often are selfish and can only think for themselves. We prepare you for the real galactic world; for the new experiences and wonders that the Federation may bring."

Morty couldn't help but snort. "Y-y-you mean that-th-that you're pre-preparing us for a life of whate-ever you want u-us to do," he grumbled under his breath.

All three agents snapped their heads his way. Every eye was trained on him, six on each alien, eighteen in total. "Was there something you wanted to share with the class, Mr. Smith?" the head agent asked him.

Morty felt his heart skip a beat. "N-no, of c-course no-not," he fumbled over his words like an idiot, mind racing for an excuse. "I was st-still just…I-I was still j-just conf-fused on the whole 'pl-planetary ranking' and s-stuff."

The head agent seemed to relax at that, big shoulders easing up and four eyes closing. "Good question, Mr. Smith. Well, that answer is very simple. We see those with lower intelligences ranked on a lower scale. They go down and down until they find themselves where they belong with life forms of similar ranking. For example, humans rank somewhere between Lictnanrons and Elorgitornians."

"We'll, I-I mean, wh-where exactly d-d-does tha-that put us?" Morty asked again, confusion for a moment overshadowing his common sense.

However, the aliens ignored him again. "Let us move on," they droned together, as if they had practiced it. The agents kept clicking through the slideshow, ignoring the confused murmurs that had arisen in the wake of the previous topic. "Now, the Federation is kind, but not without it's limits. If you don't respect the terms the Galactic Federation have given to you," one of them spoke up through the throng of voices, trying to recapture the class's attention, "then you could end up like this."

At the next slide, Morty felt his stomach drop somewhere between his ankles.

It was Rick.

Oh my God, it was Rick. He was there, staring back at him. But it wasn't a fugitive picture, it was a mugshot, with dark circled eyes staring back at the class in an apathetic fashion. He looked almost bored at his capture, like this was just another adventure he was dragging Morty on. But Morty knew better. He began to tremble, and his hands curled tightly into a fist.

"This Earth man was on the Galactic Federation's wanted list for the last twenty years," one of the agents informed the class with a voice like ice. "He was captured a few months ago and is currently being held at an undisclosed location. He was a renegade scientist that performed unspeakable crimes of terror against the Federation. Should you not follow the fair laws the Federation have imposed upon you, the result will be similar to this man over here. We will not go easy on you simply because you are new to our system."

Some of the ones who knew Rick, Jessica among them, cast sideways glances Morty's way as he sat in the back of the classroom. His face burned; he didn't know if it was going red with fury or white with shock. His fingernails dug so deep into his palm that Morty wondered if he was drawing blood.

The agent's eyes, four of them each now, swept across the room, going over every single student. When they reached him, Morty could have sworn they lingered on him just a little longer. Maybe for a half of a second, or more, before moving on from him.

And then he knew.

They were testing him. They wanted him to react. They wanted him to scream and shout and defend Rick in front of the whole class. Then they would peg him as a troublemaker or a threat or something along those lines. They wanted some sort of sign that Morty cared about his grandfather, enough to risk his own well-being to disobey the Galactic Federation.

Well, Morty wasn't going to give them the satisfaction.

He exhaled slowly, and loosened his fingers so they fell limp across his desk. Morty took deep, silent breaths in an effort to calm his racing heart. It was fortunate that he sat in the back, so no one really gave him much of a second glance. The agents tried to lock eyes with him again, but Morty held their gaze and refused to look angry. Eventually, they clicked to the next slide about federally-mandated jobs. Yet, the image of Rick's face in prison still burned through Morty's eyes. He hardly paid attention to the rest of the slideshow, longing to go home where he could try to figure something out in privacy.

At long last, the slideshow came to an end with a family of cheerful aliens waving back at them. Hardly a mood-setter. "Thank you for your time," the head agent said in mock gratitude. "You may leave now. Class will begin tomorrow at the normal time."

With that, everyone slowly got up and began to whisper to each other about what they had just seen and heard. Morty ignored their voices swelling in front of him as he gathered his things and rushed out the door. He could feel eyes on his back, but he didn't know if it was from the agents or from the other students as they watched him go. Either way, Morty didn't care.

He stopped by his locker to grab his things before Summer pulled around with the car. He shoved every single textbook he had into his backpack, zipping it up far more aggressively then he meant to. All he wanted to do was to punch his locker, or destroy this entire school. God, he hated how the Federation was treating the arrest of his grandfather. The way they dangled it over his head in front of everyone. They were taunting him, like Morty was some kind of disobedient pet that needed punishment.

"Morty?"

Morty spun around, expecting Summer. What he found instead of his sister, to his astonishment, was Jessica. She stood there placidly with her books clutched tightly to her chest, an apologetic expression on her face. Morty felt his anger begin to ebb away at the sight of her.

"O-oh," he stammered, picking up his backpack. "Um, hi J-Jessica."

She looked down, averting her eyes. "Look, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry those agents showed your grandfather in that slideshow," she began, looking slightly flustered. "I mean, he didn't seem like that bad of a guy when I met him, so I feel really bad about the whole thing. You must feel terrible."

Morty blinked in surprise. People milled around the halls, speaking only in hushed voices, but for this moment it was only him and Jessica. Morty stared at her, not even knowing what to say.

"Thanks, Je-Jessica," he finally breathed. He didn't dare raise his voice. Not if agents were still milling around. "I really…I really ap-appreciate it."

Jessica offered him what seemed to be a genuine smile. "I'll see you tomorrow, Morty," she whispered before turning around and heading down the hall. Morty watched her go until she turned around the corner and disappeared. Feeling slightly uplifted, Morty slammed the locker shut and dragged himself out the front door to wait for Summer.

She pulled up not long after. As Morty climbed into the front seat, he caught sight of her face. Her eyes had gone red and puffy and her mouth had whittled down to a thin line, quivering from strain. Her knuckles had gone white from clutching the steering wheel too hard. She didn't even greet Morty before driving off onto the road on the way home.

"You s-saw it too?" Morty guessed. Summer nodded.

"They looked at me when they did it," Summer whimpered. Morty had never seen his sister looked so distressed. She rubbed her eyes with the palm of her had, her voice wavering. "Someone in the back of the class asked if that was my grandfather and I…I thought they were going to arrest me too, or something. But then they just kind of laughed at us. Like this whole thing was funny. I can't…I can't believe it."

Morty nodded. "M-me too. They just…they j-just wanted a ro-rouse out of us, Summer."

Morty and Summer sat in an uncomfortable period of quietness for a while as she drove along Main Street. Morty tried to use this time to process what he saw; to understand what his grandfather had done. But each time he thought he was getting somewhere, he just found himself at a new dead end. It was like being trapped in a maze, hopeless without at least some comprehension of what was going on or what he was up against.

"Hey, do you think that Grandpa Rick got captured, or…?"

Morty gave a start, shocked out of his daydreams by Summer as she rolled to a stop at the red light. "W-w-what do you mean, capt-cap-captured?" Morty retorted, letting his frustration get away from him. "Rick doesn't get captured. He always has a plan."

"You're not getting it, Morty," Summer responded, not sounding at all put out by her brother's dejection. "Think of it like this. If you were Grandpa Rick, and you knew that there was no way that you could outrun the government and you had nothing but a car full of worms and a bunch of planets to hop around on, what would you do?"

"I-I'd try to find a w-way to escape a-anyway," Morty repeated himself stubbornly, wondering where his sister was going with this.

"Okay, now what would you do in the same situation, but this time, you have your whole family with you? They have no weapons, no experience in space, and no way to defend themselves against the intergalactic version of the USSR. And you know full well that if they Federation got their hands on them and not you, they would torture them until they revealed your location, even if they had no idea where you had gone to."

Morty blinked, a small amount of understanding blossoming in his brain. 'So you…y-you're saying-?"

"I'm saying that Grandpa Rick wouldn't just get himself captured," Summer shrugged her shoulders. "He's too smart to do that."

"What about Dad?"

Summer hesitated for a moment. "I don…I don't know. I don't think Dad would have turned him in either. You saw how mad Mom got when he suggested it, and when Mom puts her foot down, Dad doesn't really fight her about it. I think that, maybe…I think Grandpa Rick turned himself in."

Silence greeted her words as Morty tried to wrap his head around what she was saying. There was a sudden jerk as the light turned green and the car began to roll again. "Rick…gave himself up?" he wondered aloud, feeling weak.

"It makes sense."

"In wh-what way?"

"Grandpa Rick said they would torture us until the Federation figured out where he was," Morty wasn't sure how Summer was staying so calm. "So what if he said that if he gave himself up, then the Federation would leave us alone? I mean, they knew where we were when they came to that small planet to pick us up, and if Dad didn't call them, what if Grandpa Rick let them take him on the condition that we weren't tortured? They didn't even interrogate us. They must've already found Grandpa Rick by the time they got us. It makes sense, Morty. Don't try to tell me it doesn't."

Morty felt his insides begin to twist up. Guilt and shame racked through him, leaving him short of breath. "Rick would…R-Rick would never give himself u-up to the Fe-federation," Morty concluded at last.

Summer gave him an incredulous stare. "And why not?"

"Because R-Rick doesn't care that much about us," Morty felt miserable at even admitting to the thought, yet here he was, spilling his heart out to his sister like his was a teenage girl who'd just gotten her heart broken. "H-he'd leave us and ju-just hop into another dimension whe-where he wasn't there, and h-he'd just take that R-Rick's place and h-he'd forget about us."

"But he didn't," Summer pointed out, still steadfast. "He's in prison. He didn't abandon us."

"What's to say he didn't?" Morty spat as Summer turned the car around the last corner to their house. "What's to say he didn't…he didn't bride some other Rick to take his place? O-or maybe he created a clone of himself-,"

"Morty," Summer's voice sounded distant.

"Some s-sort of shape-shifting alien, or-."

"Morty!" Summer raised her voice. Morty blinked; he had never heard her sound so panicked. Putting a plug on his words for another time, he turned to see that his sister had parked the car on the street corner by their house and was staring in front of her, wide-eyed and ashen faced. Morty followed her gaze, and what he saw made him feel sick.

About three federation ships were parked in front of the house, abandoned during the days now that his dad had gotten a job and his mother was busy at the clinic. The garage had been pulled open, and several Federation Gromflomite agents were filling in and out of it. In their hands was all of Rick's stuff. His guns, his vials, his tools, his inventions. Every single thing left of Rick that Morty was terrified to lose. One by one, they were loaded into the ships, and the agents returned back into the garage to grab more things.

Morty reacted instinctively. He grabbed the car door and yanked it hard. Unfortunately, his sister was even faster than he was, because she clicked the lock button just before Morty could escape. He gritted his teeth and tried to unlock the car again, but every time he made an attempt, Summer just clicked the lock back into place from her position in the driver's seat.

"Summer, what the-?" Morty growled, now trying to open the window, but Summer had hit the window lock. "W-what the hell?"

"Morty, get a fucking hold of yourself," Summer snapped. "What will those guys think if you're running up to save all of Grandpa's stuff? I'll tell you what; they're gonna think you're a threat. So just sit in the car and…and…"

Morty stared at her, more shocked than angry now. Summer looked away. "There's nothing we can do, okay?" she finished, sounding choked up.

Her voice jarred him, made him sit back and stare out the dashboard window as the Federation continued to load all of Rick's things into the ships. They sat together, safely hidden on the curb while the agents took every last piece of technology they could get their hands on. After a few more minutes, they all returned to the ship and then they climbed back into the air, soaring away from the house until it was out of sight. Only then would Summer drive the car into the driveway.

The garage was spotless; one would never have known that it was being raided for belongings only a few moments ago. It looked like any normal garage, with a workbench and a stool and a wide space for a car but Morty wouldn't allow himself to be deceived. The walls had been stripped corner to corner, and where there had been various science knick-knacks and inventions that once fascinated him and his sister only stood bare shelves and emptied drawers. Summer went upstairs and confirmed Morty's worst fear. Rick's room had been raided too, and they'd taken every single blueprint that their grandfather had made and pinned on his wall. Every last tool that they had to remake something that could save him. Desperate, Morty checked behind the wall where Rick had kept his weapons, only to find that it was stripped too. Together, Summer and Morty descended into the secret underground lab that Rick had somehow built a year ago. One last chance, just one, but even that wasn't spared. The only thing was that the agents weren't nearly as neat in this part of the house. The entire place was ransacked, covered in broken glass and fluids that the two of them didn't have the courage to clean. The very sight of it made Morty want to sob, and for once, Summer didn't look like she was holding up any better than he was.

"They only left one thing," Summer sighed as they returned to the garage and checked the bottom cabinets.

Morty looked up, hopeful. Maybe it was an extra portal gun? Or a pistol? Or a journal about the Federation? Something.  _Anything_.

But Summer only held up a bottle of vodka.

"They didn't bother taking any of this stuff," she sounded depressed, "it's all still here."

Morty felt like crying all over again. He felt like sobbing and pouring his heart out on the clean floors of the garage if it meant that he would somehow feel better. In his heart, however, he knew that it wouldn't change anything. No amount of sadness was going to bring Rick back. Hell, Rick'd probably be scoffing from wherever he was, telling Morty to stop being such a child and to get a hold of himself. All of it, the thoughts and the mugshots and the raids, was just making him so tired. Morty sank to the ground, back against the cold concrete. His head fell into his hands and he stared at the floor, unblinking. There was the sound of footsteps and the sliding of another body next to him as Summer joined his side.

"What ar-are we g-going to do?" Morty mumbled, gripping his hair. "W-what are we g-g-going to do?"

Summer didn't respond, her eyes heavy. Instead, she took a swig of the vodka that she still had clutched in her hand and forced it down with a painful expression. Wordlessly, she offered the bottle to her brother, but he refused it.

Morty and Summer sat there, side by side, not talking, for who really knew how long. Summer could only manage two more sips of the vodka before she set it down and hugged her knees and stared into the distance. The sun was sinking in the distance through the open garage door, bathing the garage in orange light and making the place almost unbearably warm. Morty couldn't stop looking around, picturing where everything his grandfather invented had been, right down to the last wrench on the wall and the tiniest screwdriver in the top drawer. And now it was all gone, never to be seen again.

The two of them sat there until there was a familiar rumble down the street and the glaring headlights of their mother's car pulled them out of their trances. The door snapped shut, and their mother stepped into the garage, a confused expression plain on her face. "Morty, Summer, what's-?" she stopped mid-sentence as she took in her surroundings. "Where did all of Rick's stuff go?"

Morty only shook his head. Summer managed to stand and made for the entrance to the house. "Don't bother cooking anything, Mom," she sighed. "I'm not hungry." And with that, she opened the garage door and slammed it shut behind her, leaving Morty and Beth alone.

It took a long time and his father coming home before Morty could find the strength to move again. He picked himself off the floor, trudged through the living room and the kitchen, and eventually found himself going up the stairs. Jerry gave his son a friendly greeting, either unaware of the seizing or indifferent to it. On pure instinct, Morty tried to head into his sister's room and talk about everything with her, but Summer was blasting her iPod. It was something she always did when she was upset, so she could mask how hurt she was. In the end, Morty decided to leave her alone. He wanted to figure things out for himself.

The door to Rick's room was open, leaving nothing but a stripped down cot and a nightstand. If someone had seen it for the first time, they would have probably thought it to be a walk-in closet or some sort of tiny guest room. The space phone was gone; Morty found himself staring at where it would have been. Even the photo of Rick and Morty and the rest of the family, which was from their visit to the dimension of hamsters living in people's rear-ends, was missing from the wall outside the room.

Everything was missing now. No more adventures. No more science. No more memories. Not even any more photos.

And even though the world was crawling with aliens, Morty had never felt more alone.


	3. What We Left Behind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Please enjoy a jump start to the plot.

There wasn’t really any reason Morty had to go into his parent’s bedroom.  Curiosity, maybe?  Perhaps it was sheer boredom.  But when he stepped into it, Morty wasn’t really sure what he was expecting.

Three weeks had passed since the Gromflomites took all of Rick’s stuff away.  After that day, Morty and Summer came to an agreement not to tell their parents.  With Beth living in a state of weariness and Jerry living in a state of euphoria, telling them would only send them both crashing down.

True to Summer’s word, the Gromflomites were extremely thorough, not missing any nook or cranny of the Smith’s house.  What used to be Rick’s room was now a large closet, the liveliness from the blueprints lost.  Jerry had already wheeled Rick’s old cot out, leaving a room that he was planning on converting into a guest room.  Morty and Summer both protested this, and Beth and her husband finished with a fierce argument that lasted well into the night.  Some things, Morty figured, never really changed.

After the presentation, different programs began to pop up, just like the Federation said they would.  They involved learning about other alien life, from languages to anatomy to cultures.  All of them were run by the Galactic Federation, unsurprisingly, with strict subject material and curriculums.  Over the next few days, most if not all of the students in the high school were taking at least one of these after-school programs.  Except Morty and Summer.  Jerry had tried to get them to take one, but Beth seemed just as wary of the situation as her children.  And like Summer said; when she put her foot down, no one could change her mind.  Morty was eternally grateful that his mother wasn’t forcing them to participate, especially considering what happened to the kids that did.

It started off normally; the kids who attended the programs would quickly make connections and sit together at lunch, shattering the thin veneer of social unity that had lasted all of three months.  Morty would sit with one or two other kids who weren’t in the programs and eat lunch as fast as possible. 

Then, things got stranger.  The kids from the programs would constantly whisper to each other during class about things Morty could never catch, and leave at odd times like they were on a schedule.  Each kid that Morty made attempts to talk to would appear fine, but if Morty brought anything up about the Federation, they would bristle like a startled cat.  “The Federation’s actions are for the good of the galaxy.  They are the reason we are unified today,” they would say.  All of them.  Every single one—Morty checked himself, casually bringing it up around whomever he happened to be in contact with.  And it only seemed to be around people who weren’t in the programs, because Morty saw plenty of program-students talk about the Federation to each other without this weird mantra being thrown around.  Nothing but praise, of course.  It made Morty’s skin crawl, and he didn’t know whether to be scared for his classmates, or fearful for himself.

Summer noticed it too and thank God she rescued him.  They got permission from the principal for Morty to go home for lunch with his sister, using the excuse that money was tight and with both parents working the two of them didn’t have a packed lunch.  Principal Vagina was reluctant, but he let Morty and Summer go without complaint in the end.  And every single time they drove away from the high school, Morty thanked whatever being was out there that his sister was on his side.

In truth, he shouldn’t be worrying as much as he was.  It wasn’t his fault, and it certainly wasn’t his responsibility.  He kept telling himself to stay in his lane.  Stay on guard.  Don’t do anything stupid.  But not doing anything stupid was never something Morty was particularly good at.

It was a late night.  Beth had been called back to the clinic for some last minute surgery.  Jerry was working the graveyard shift again at the Federation bureau deep in the city.  Summer was attending a school dance that her friends had dragged her to.  She’d left with a brave face masking her obvious unhappiness, Morty knowing full well that she’d rather be home than where she was going.  But hell, it was probably good for her. At least she had some people to drag her places.  All the kids who talked to Morty or been remotely nice to him had joined the Federation programs, and God knows what was in store for them.

All alone, Morty heated up a microwave dinner and picked through the portions.  He turned on the TV—something mindless to put his brain in a stupor—too late to remember that the Gromflomites had seized the inter-dimensional cable box in the raid.  Without it, there was nothing remotely interesting to watch on anymore.  Morty settled on a college football game he didn’t care about, threw away the dinner he wasn’t eating, and thought about the dreams that were never going to come true.

Rick in jail and the Galactic Federation taking over was lodged in the back of his head like a fucking parasite.  No matter how hard Morty tried to force them down, his grandfather kept reappearing in his mind.  Had he no other good memories?  Focus.  Think of something else.  But part of Morty knew that he didn’t want to, and that guilt and regret were making him stubborn.  His head was a pressure cooker, and sometimes the heat was too much for him to bear without something else to worry over. 

With nothing to distract him, Morty began to pace throughout the house.  His brain was a scattered mess of discombobulated thoughts and ideas and feelings that always slipped away from him when he tried to reach for them.  There was one thing that was constant—what Rick would say if he were here, watching his grandson agonize over the situation. 

_C-calm down M-Morty.  You…you’re o-overthinking shit.  The univer-urrrp-universe is too big to worry about m-me.  Get a-a fu-urrrp-fucking grip, ya litt-little shit._

Morty’s erratic paths around the house lead him through the garage, the kitchen, his room, the guest closet, and outside by the garden shed.  When he finally felt himself recover, he found himself outside of Beth and Jerry’s room, his hand hovering for the doorknob.  Perhaps it was that slight hesitation that finally kicked his senses back into gear, because he and Summer never went in here as children.  It was some sort of unwritten rule of the house; Mom and Dad’s privacy wasn’t to be evaded without permission.  The only time someone went in here was in case of emergencies.  One time, Morty snuck in, only to accidentally ruin one of his father’s suits and earning him a month without TV privileges.  Summer never wasted a moment in taunting him about it during those four weeks.

But fuck it.

The bedroom was a normal bedroom as plain as he remembered, with a queen sized bed and a desk for the computer.  Two doors were on opposite walls—one for the bathroom, the other for the closet.  A few family photos hung on the wall, showing Beth and Jerry getting married, a young Summer playing on a family vacation to the beach, and a fourth-grade version of himself at some amusement park they went to a few years back.  There had been a picture of Rick and Morty hanging by the bathroom door, but a solitary nail was all that remained of it.

Morty went up and down the room, opening the drawers with a childlike curiosity like he was going to find the answer to all their problems in them.  He found the drawer where Jerry stashed his condoms, much to Morty’s disgust.  There was also a drawer where Beth kept some of her old jewelry and trinkets.  The bathroom was a plain and simple bathroom, nothing out of the ordinary there.  In the closet, the only remotely interesting thing was a dress that Morty recognized as the one Beth wore on her wedding day.  But aside from that, nothing.  Morty felt an unsurprising feeling of disappointment welling up inside of him, his mind already beginning to race again with the hundreds of thoughts that dragged him all over the house.

Before he left the room, however, Morty got down on his hands and knees and checked under the queen bed.

Stuffed under there were a few cardboard boxes that were labeled pretty clearly.  One called “Jerry’s Stuff” contained his old school textbooks and his high school diploma.  A box of his mothers had nothing but old wedding gifts and photos and was aptly named “Wedding Day 1998”.  And there was one more box of Beth’s—one tucked in the corner labeled “Mom and Dad” in her curvy handwriting.

His interest caught, Morty slid the box out and was immediately let down by how small it was.  Whereas the other boxes his parents had were wide and long, this one was shallow and petite, barely bigger than a shoebox.  Nevertheless, Morty still opened it.

The first thing that caught Morty’s eye was a framed photo pressed on the side.  When he dug it out, he could see it was a photo of his mother.  She looked young, five or six at the latest.  Her eyes were big and her smile was wide, the innocence of a child perfectly captured within a snapshot.  She wore a cute pink dress and had her blonde hair done in pigtails that were so curly and thick they threatened to break the hair ties.  Someone was holding Beth up so she sat in the crook of an elbow in the direct middle of the photo.  The face of that someone was torn away, perhaps in some sort of anger or just with time, and Morty could only get a glimpse of a sea foam dress and a silver chain around the neck.  On Beth’s right, the empty space had been sloppily filled by a child’s artistic prowess with crayons.  A stick figure drawn in orange.  A white shirt colored over the thin body.  Powder-blue squiggles for hair. Black for the face, which was nothing more than two lines for eyes and a slight curve of a smile that seemed familiar and unnatural at the same time.  The figure had his arms raised like he was celebrating something, making the stupid smile even more ridiculous.  It made Morty feel weary just looking at the photo, so he placed it back into the box and resumed his search.

A few more mementos were all that remained in Beth’s box.  Some wrapping paper from a present that had glow-in-the-dark spaceships on them.  An old music box that played a tune Morty couldn’t place.  A few polaroids of Beth when she was a teenager. A seventh-grade report with a perfect score on a science project.  Oddly enough, Morty couldn’t find a single photo of Rick.  There were some of Morty’s grandmother, who died before he was born, but all other photos were missing his grandfather.  The only evidence of Rick’s presence in Beth’s life was on the science report.  He recognized some of Rick’s handwriting scrawled over his daughter’s drawings and writings, arrows all over the place to point out scientific facts.  Beth had gone over them with a purple pen to make them look like she had written them.  Morty didn’t know whether to find it charming or upsetting.

Morty was about to slide the box back under the bed when one more thing caught his eye.

Half buried under the wrapping paper was a disc, black and green with a glass top.  When Morty drew it out of the box, he could feel that it was extremely light.  It wasn’t too big; it probably could have fit into his pockets if Morty tried to wiggle it in.  The disc was separated on the edge into eight green sections with the glass in the middle.  It looked scientific, but it also could have just been a toy.  Either way, Morty wasn’t going to put it back until he figured out what it did.

Morty tried pressing one of the green sides in the hopes that it would activate something.  Nothing happened. 

He tried tapping on the glass top, wondering if something was inside.  Again, nothing.

No amount of shaking, pressing, or staring at the disc could make Morty figure out what it’s purpose was.  Whatever hope that had ignited in Morty’s mind was quickly sputtering.  Still, when he slid Beth’s box back under the bed, he didn’t put the disc back.  Instead, he pocketed it, fixed everything back up, and headed back downstairs. 

Morty sat in front of the TV and looked the disc over and over, wondering just what the hell it was supposed to be.  He supposed he sat there for a while, because the next thing he knew, the sound of the garage door rumbled through the empty walls.

Morty perked up as the garage door opening.  “Morty?” his mother called out into the house.

“Here,” he called back to her, switching off the TV.  “I-I’m in the l-living room.”

Beth looked beyond exhausted.  Her scrubs were stained heavily with red from the clinic and she still had rubber gloves on, which she slowly peeled off.  Her blonde hair was disheveled, halfway falling out of the hair tie.  Morty’s mother set her purse down and opened the garbage can to dispose of the gloves, but something held her back.  “You didn’t finish your dinner, sweetie?” she asked, a strained sort of kindness making her voice waver and hang in the air.

Morty shuffled awkwardly into the kitchen.  “I wasn’t…I wasn’t re-really hungry,” he answered lamely.

Now it was Beth’s turn to sigh.  She tossed the gloves in the can and slammed it shut, then headed straight for the cabinet with the wine bottles.  “Sorry I couldn’t be home, Morty.  It was a really long night,” she explained as she poured herself a glass.  A bigger one than usual, Morty noted.  She must’ve been feeling really shitty.

He offered Beth a slight shrug.  “It’s alright, Mom.  I mean, I-I don’t mind at a-all.”

“Still,” Beth argued before taking a sip of the wine.  As she drained the glass, Morty could see her shoulders relaxing as her mind became a little fogged.  When she finished, she slammed the wine glass down so hard Morty was afraid it was going to shatter in her hands.  There was another sort of hardness to her voice as she spoke again.  “I mean; you shouldn’t be hanging out alone tonight.  It’s Friday.  What are all the other kids doing?”

“I don…I don’t know.  I-I think the Federation programs were g-gonna go on a field trip tonight.”

His mother pulled a face before seizing the bottle of wine by it’s neck and attempting to pour another glass.  Before she could, however, a strange look of acceptance passed over her features.  “Look at me,” she mumbled with a shake of her head.  “All this time I thought you’d be the one to start acting like Dad, but here I am.  And I got none of the good parts, either.”  She placed the wine bottle down and moved to put the glass in the sink.  “Just the alcoholic tendencies, I suppose.”

Water began to gush from the tap, and Beth turned her back to her son as she cleaned the wine glass.  “I don’t really know what’s been worse, Morty,” she sighed.  “The twenty years that my father was absent, or these six months where he’s been missing.  They both…. they both hurt.  I just don’t know which hurts worse anymore.  And everyday, I ask myself ‘what could I have done to make him stay?’”

Morty bit his lip, the sight of Beth’s family picture burning in the back of his eyes.  “I d-don’t think he’s gone forever,” he offered weakly, trying helplessly to tiptoe around the subject. “Maybe he’s hiding.  M-maybe he’ll come back.”

“Everything I did in the last two years, I did to keep this family intact,” if his mother heard him, she gave no sign of it.  “When you and your sister were going on adventures with Dad, that was the happiest I’d seen you two.  Things were looking better for your father and I.  I just needed to make sure he didn’t leave, I told myself. I thought that maybe, just maybe, now that Dad was back, then things would work out.  And I’d be happier.  Maybe Jerry and I could finally work out our differences.  Be a normal family.  And now your father has a job, he’s bringing in steady money, and now I’m pretty much the freeloader. It feels like all of it was for nothing. Dad’s still gone, and we’ve been moving on without him.”

Morty sat at the counter, unsure of whether to express pity or remorse or empathy or frustration.  No one was moving on, and Beth knew it.  Her beating herself up over it wasn’t going to solve anything.

Morty’s mother turned around.  “Where did you get that?” she asked, her voice rising slightly.

Morty’s face began to redden.  He looked down, the disc clutched in his hands.  He didn’t realize he was still holding it.  “I-I…I…um…”

“Wha- is that from my room?  Morty, you know I don’t like you going through our stuff.”

She sounded pissed, and rightfully so.  Morty lowered his head, not meeting her eyes.  “I just…I j-just thought that, t-that I’d find something of Rick’s in y-your room,” was the pathetic excuse he gave.

He expected a rebuttal or an argument to commence, but Beth only sighed.  The tinkling of glass made Morty perk his head up; Beth was putting the cleaned wine glass back in the cabinet.  “I know you miss Rick, Morty, but please ask if you want to go through my things again, okay?”

Amazed that he was getting let off of his snooping so easily, Morty could only nod and let out a shaky “o-okay,” as Beth made her way up to the stairs.  He called after her, “wait, Mom, what d-does this thing e-even do?”

A look of bitterness passed over Beth’s face, so fast Morty thought he might have imagined it.  “Give it here,” she requested, to which Morty tossed the disc over. 

She looked it over once and then grabbed the ends of it.  When she twisted it, Morty could see that there were two halves of the disc and they rotated in opposite directions.  Something clicked from inside the disc and Beth placed it back on the kitchen counter.

A blue flash of light sprouted up from the glass top, forming legs, a torso, and then a head.  Morty felt his eyes grow wide and his heart jump into his throat.  A holographic image of Rick was now being projected above the glass, buzzing and full of static like he was on a TV with bad reception.

Beth’s voice was flat, disenchantment dripping off every word.  “When my Dad left, he gave this to my mom and I and told us that if we ever needed him, we could watch this.  I thought that meant that it would tell me where he was.  I spent days pouring over that he said-“

“What he said?” Morty interrupted, sliding the disc over to him.

He hadn’t noticed the hologram of Rick was speaking something.  It clutched a can of beer and chuckled, but Morty’s mother spoke over it.  “He left a note saying something about a prerecorded message.  But it was all just gibberish.  I think he had something written out but he was too buzzed to say it,” with that, Beth turned on heel and headed back upstairs.  “I’m going upstairs, okay?  If your sister needs a ride home, let me know.”

Morty nodded, waiting as she went to her room.  By now, the little Rick on the disc was finished with his message and the image was frozen mid-burp.  One of the green sides was lit, maybe like a request to play again. 

A closer look made Morty realize that this wasn’t Rick as he had known him.  Twenty years had made Rick almost unrecognizable.  His hair was thick, full, and flyaway (yet still that pale gray-blue, Morty noted).  He still wore a lab coat, but underneath was a pair of jeans and a green t-shirt.  There was a hint of a five-o-clock shadow under his chin; in fact, Rick had an air of unkemptness even from the still image of a hologram, from the coffee stains on the shirt to the dark circles prominent under his eyes.  Strapped to his side, barely visible within the folds of the lab coat, was his favorite blaster pistol.

Morty, on instinct, whipped out his phone and quickly texted his sister.

_[10:49 pm]: Hey can u get back here????  I need to show u something._

His phone buzzed with Summer’s reply pretty quickly.

_[10:50 pm]: At dance.  Cant leave.  Be back later. :p_

Swallowing his disappointment, Morty took the hologram disc and headed for his room to wait.  An hour passed, then another.  Morty stared at Rick’s small hologram, only about a foot in size, not daring to press the flashing green button on the side. 

Ten minutes before one, the sounds of a car slowing down on asphalt, a happy sort of farewell from a collective voice of girls, and the listless acknowledgement from his sister came from outside.  The garage door rumbled and shuddered, and the side door opened and slammed shut.  Before long, Morty could hear Summer’s footsteps pass by his room, and he ran to the door and opened it a crack.

“Psst,” he hissed, as loudly as he could without waking their mother up in the next room, “Summer.”

“Morty?” even though she sounded startled, she thankfully kept her voice low.  “What are you still doing up?  It’s one in the freaking morning.”

“Waiting for you.  I-I need to sh-show you something, r-remember?”

Summer paused, then quickly scampered over to Morty’s door and threw it open.  She was wearing a nice blue dress with a peplum and spaghetti straps, matching heels clutched in her hands.  Still, she looked tired and unstimulated.  “H-how was the d-dance?” he asked politely. 

Summer tossed her shoes on the ground.  “Boring and pointless,” she grumbled.  “I only went because it’s going to be the last dance before break and my friends thought I could use some time with them,” Summer collapsed on the end of Morty’s bed.  “But that only told me that the only thing I need is more time away from them.”

“Jeez, Summer, you d-don’t think that’s a little h-harsh, don’t you?”

“Morty, I didn’t come into your room for you to belittle me about my life choices.  What do you want to show me?”

Morty took the hologram and showed it to her.  In the pale blue light reflected from it, Morty could see Summer’s eyes growing wide.  “Is,” she stammered, “is that Grandpa Rick?”

“It was Mom’s; Rick gave it to her when he left,” Morty explained, placing it on the carpet and sitting down cross-legged in front of it.  “I-I think that maybe it m-might have something w-we can use.  Li-like, maybe to find R-Rick?”

Summer slid off the bed and sat next to him.  “Well, what are you waiting for?  Play it.  I want to see.”

And so, Morty finally pressed the little pulsing green side of the disc.  In an instant, the image of their grandfather rewound and began to play forward.

“Is t-this thing on,” were Rick’s first words.  Someone out of the microphone’s earshot must’ve given him an affirmation, because their grandfather turned his attention back to the recording.  “G-good, b-because I’m not r-repeating this.  Okay, s-so, yeah, this is Rick Sanchez, signing off.  You know, just doing my own thing.  I-I-I gotta go.  Need to leave, ya know?”

Summer and Morty exchanged a confused glance as the hologram of Rick swayed slightly, clearly already drunk.  “So, yeah, i-if you need anything, th-the code is 305.  You, you’ll know when you find i- _urrrp_ -it.  R-remember, it…it’s 305, t-that’s th-the code.”

Code to what?  Rick’s safe code, while Morty didn’t know it, was at least four numbers.  Was there something else that Rick had in his possession that was valuable?  Maybe it could help somehow?

If Rick had any intentions of elaborating, they were clearly lost in the translation.  “H-hey, you know what I-I love?” the hologram asked to no one in particular.  “T- _urrrp-_ rees.  I like….I like spruces, and I l-like aspens.  You k-know, those kinds.  Ni-nice spruces and aspens, on t-the side of the boulevard.  Goin’ do-down the boulevard.”

“What the hell is he talking about?” came Summer’s disgusted commentary.  Morty didn’t have an answer—he was just as lost.

Rick was now deviating again, jumping mindlessly from topic to topic.  “H-hey sweetie, I know t-that you’re gonna be upset.  I-I’ll try t-urrp-to make it back for your six…your sixteenth birthday.  H-how does t-that sound?  Hey, hey Miles, han…hand m-me a be-urrrp-er, why don’t you?”

A beer sailed into the holographic image, and Rick made a grab for it but missed.  He ducked down and came back into the frame with a can in his hand. 

“Oh, oh man, I-I love a good Coors,” Rick rambled.  There was no other word to describe it.  All their grandfather was doing was rambling to the hologram.  Rick cracked the can open and took a long sip, only to burp when he set it down.  “A-a good cold Coors.  Ni-ni-nice.  It’s nice.  But, but yeah, things fo-for me, Bethie, they-they’re going south.  Way south.  Like d-deep deep south.  Got-gotta leave.  Take care of…take c- _urrrp-_ care of your mom, okay?  R-remember, I-I’ll try to come b-back when you turn six…sixteen.  Yo Miles, hit the c _-urrrp-_ …”

And that was how it ended.  With the attractive, anticlimactic image of their grandfather burping and spittle flying everywhere.  The light on the green side blinked again, but Morty didn’t see the need to repeat the message.  Summer sat up, looking dejected.

“Of all the stuff we could have saved,” Summer grumbled, a mix of sadness and disappointment hanging off her words, “and this is what we get?”

Morty shrugged, feeling just as helpless.  It seemed like Beth’s bitterness was now extremely justified; how would Morty feel if one of his parents abandoned him and only left this as a parting gift?  Just some empty promises and a code to who knows what.  Small wonder their mother acted the way she did.

Summer made to stand, brushing her dress off.  “I’m gonna go to bed,” she sighed.  “I have to write college essays tomorrow.  I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”  And without waiting for his answer, his sister walked out of the room and slammed the door behind her, leaving her brother sitting alone on the floor.

Morty twisted the base of the disc just as Beth had and the hologram of Rick disappeared, leaving him alone in the darkness of his room.  He placed the disc on his nightstand and rolled over on his bed, trying to sleep.  All thoughts were now directed on the disc, and it was keeping Morty much more occupied than in should have for a message that was thirty seconds long and mostly about trees.  But there must’ve been something more, right?  Rick was smart, but then again, he was also always drunk.  But something about this didn’t ring true to him.  And Goddamnit, he was going to figure it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am super fuckin hungover right now.
> 
> I wrote a decent portion of the hologram-Rick speech when I was slightly inebriated after coming home from a party. Cleaned it up the next day but I have a killer headache. 
> 
> Ugh.


	4. The Hologram Disc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again. I really like where my ideas for this story are going and I really appreciate the response this has gotten, so thanks for reading and please enjoy the new chapter!

“I-I think I’m really s-sick, Mom.  I f-feel like sh-shit.”

“Morty, I don’t like that language in the house.”

“Geez, f-fine, I f-feel re-re-really disgusting.  C-can I just stay h-home?”

Beth hesitated, flickers of doubt crossing over her features.  Morty hoped that he was pulling off a convincing fake fever.  He knew all the old tricks; how to fake a temperature, which blankets to cover himself in to show that he had chills, how to heat up his face with the bottom of his computer to make it feel warm to the touch.  He’d even rushed into the bathroom and pretended to heave into the toilet for much longer than he should have, in truth.  He felt like he was suffocating under the heat of the three woolen sheets he’d dragged over himself, but it’d be worth it if he got to skip out of school.

Unfortunately, his mother wasn’t as easily fooled as his father.  Jerry had left him be, something Morty was grateful for, but Beth had the intellect of her father, the instincts of a mother, and the medical knowledge to back it all up, and it was a dangerous combination for these sorts of things.  She’d been sitting at his bedside for the last five minutes, feeling his face and hands and giving him skeptic looks.  But Morty wasn’t going to crack under pressure.

“I-I know y-you’re going t-to be b-busy with wo-work,” Morty kept his voice low and vulnerable, adding in a few dry hacks for emphasis.  “B-but believe m-me, I-I’ll be good.”

Beth pursed her lips, which grew so thin that they threatened to disappear.  Finally, she checked the time and sighed, and Morty knew he was emerging victorious.  “Fine,” Beth relented at last, grabbing her bag and turning for the door.  “I’ll tell Summer that you’re going to stay home.  She can check up on you at lunch to see how you’re doing.  Feel better, sweetie.”

Morty pretended to nod weakly.  It wasn’t like his sister was going to rat him out.  “O-okay,” he murmured, feigning sleepiness. 

His mother exited and Morty kept his ears pricked for her movements.  She went down the stairs, crossed into the garage, and that was followed by the low rumbling of the door going up.  A car’s tires screeched on asphalt, and then she was gone.

Not daring to leave the safety of his bed in case Beth returned, Morty instead reached for his phone to see if he had any messages.  Lo and behold, he had one from Summer.

_[7:33 am]: Mom says ur skipping school?_

Morty quickly texted her back.

_[7:34 am]: Feeling super sick.  Staying home.  X_X_

_[7:34 am]: Yeah okay.  Be back at 12.  Don’t throw up, sicky._

Like he said; no fooling his sister, but no way was she going to call him out on it.

He endured another fifteen minutes under all those blankets before figuring that his mom had probably reached the clinic by now and wasn’t going to return.  He bolted out of bed and threw open the drawer of his desk.  Inside was the hologram disc, waiting for him.  Morty swallowed the last of his guilt about skipping school and pocketed the disc, then headed straight out of his room.

Morty went downstairs, poured himself a glass of water, and made for the garage.  True, there was nothing there that could really help him anymore, but maybe it was the feelings he got from being in his grandfather’s old workspace.  He wasn’t really sure: something about the place made him feel more focused and attentive.  Sitting on the old stool, Morty laid the hologram disc on the workbench and switched it on again.  Rick’s figure appeared before him and began it’s long message for the umpteenth time.  When it was over, Morty played it back, trying to no avail to find something he could work with.

Morty’s last week had been spent in contemplation, putting as much time and energy as he could in trying to crack whatever code Rick had given them.  He’d tried every single idea his mind could come up with until it felt squeezed and strained and totally drained with the effort.  Whatever he deemed to be a doable idea, no matter how irrational it sounded, Morty attempted.  Because hell, his grandfather wasn’t really the most rational of people at times, and it was reaching its pinnacle here.  Ciphers were useless because Rick was clearly still speaking English.  There wasn’t any movement from the hologram of his grandfather that would suggest Morse Code or Sign Language.  That left the words themselves, but they were so jumbled and nonsensical that Morty wasn’t even sure if there was anything to make out.  He just sat there, listening over and over again, trying to find some break in the pattern.

After refilling the water glass for a fifth time, Morty started another replay of the message.  He was about halfway through when, without warning, the garage door came to life.  It shocked Morty so bad that he pretty much jumped off the stool with a yelp.  He hit the ground hard, he was so startled.  Above him, he could hear hologram-Rick’s prerecorded burps, almost like a taunt for his clumsiness.

A car rumbled into the driveway and stopped, the door opening and slamming shut again.  “You’re sick, huh?” was Summer’s sarcastic greeting as she entered the threshold of the house.

Was it really noon already?  Morty had been so enveloped in the hologram message that time must’ve slipped away from him again.  With shaking hands, he pulled himself to his feet.  “Y-yeah, ow, I-I…I thought you w-were Mom,” he admitted as he brushed his pants off and sat back down on the stool.

Summer ignored his last remark, pushing her way into the house instead.  “Want something for lunch?” she called from the kitchen.

Morty cast one more look of longing to the hologram, which had ended once more with Rick’s face frozen in that mid-belch, before reluctantly trailing after his sister. 

In the kitchen, Summer had claimed the leftover pizza and was shoving it into the toaster oven.  “There’s last night’s pasta if you want that,” she informed him without looking up.  Morty took that as his only option and grabbed it out of the bottom shelf of the fridge.  As he placed it into the microwave, he could see Summer’s eyes get trained on him.

“So let me get this straight.  You skipped a whole day of school just so you could watch Grandpa Rick’s old hologram?” she inquired with an eyebrow quirked.

The heat was creeping up Morty’s neck; he was acutely aware of the burning in his throat.  “Yeah,” he replied, unable to keep his tone from getting defensive.  “S-so what?”

“Don’t you think you’re overthinking this a little?” Summer’s voice was calm as still water as she grabbed some soda out of the fridge.  “I mean come on, skipping school?  Sheesh, Morty, you’re going to turn into Grandpa Rick at this rate.”

“You s-sound just like Mom.”

“Well duh, I’m your older sister.  What kind of older sister would I be if I didn’t worry about you from time to time?”

“A n-normal one?”

“Ha ha, very funny.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a series of loud beeps from the microwave.  Morty relished the moment of suspension as he grabbed his tupperware of penne vodka and shoved a fork into it.  Disregarding his sister’s protests, Morty made his way back into the garage.  He tossed the pasta on the table next to the hologram disc and began another replay of the message.

Unwanted footsteps soon followed in his wake.  “Really?” Summer asked, exasperated.  “Come on, Morty.  You’re better than this.”

He gave her an indifferent shrug, secretly fuming from her words.  There was another brief lull between the two siblings until the sound of metal scraping on concrete filled Morty’s ears.  Summer dragged the extra stool over to him and popped down, her mouth full of pizza, staring at Rick’s tiny figure.

“He looks the same,” she remarked through her meal.  “Like, I mean, he looks almost exactly like he does now, don’t you think?”

Morty shrugged.  “Think his h-hair was always that color?”

“Dunno.  Maybe he dyes it?”

They stayed silent for the rest of this round of the message, Morty becoming slightly appreciative of his sister’s presence now that she wasn’t berating him.  His anger was dying as fast as it had been formed, and he found himself feeling a touch ashamed of himself, even.  Morty stabbed a few noodles of pasta and shoveled them into his mouth as the recording came to an end. 

“Honestly, Morty, I’m impressed your eyes haven’t fallen out of their sockets yet,” Summer stated, sounded mildly impressed while she pressed the glowing green button to play the hologram again.

Morty, spooning more of his lunch into his mouth, privately agreed with her.

The hologram dissolved once more into static before the image of their grandfather reclaimed it’s form.  “Is t-this thing on?” Morty knew the words so well at this point, he could probably have recited them on stage.  “G-good, b-because I’m not r-repeating this.”

Repeating this…repeating this…

“Summer, play the message back from the start,” Morty commanded, surprising himself with how hard his voice had become.  His sister gave him an odd stare but still did as he asked. 

Listening with ears anew, Morty began to catch things.  There was a specific way that Rick spoke, specific things he was trying to say through that drunken state.  It was a mask, a cover-up, and a damn good one. Morty supposed the idea was that if the message fell into the wrong hands, then it would just look like an inebriated man saying inebriated things, but there was a way that Rick said his words.  He spoke with eyes still sharp, not clouded; he knew exactly what he was doing.   What Morty had formally presumed was a combination of Rick’s drunken state and verbal crutch was suddenly making sense to him. Certain words stuck out to him like they were showcased through glaring lights and sirens over the minimal dialogue.  A meaning was being held hostage underneath all those words.  Rick was drunk, but he wasn’t rambling.  He’d  _given_ the answers to them, right under their noses.

“I-I think I have an idea,” Morty finally spoke up, scrambling around and snatching a spare pen and piece of paper.  “I think t-that we need to wr-write down every singe word R-Rick repeats twice over the message.”

Summer gave him a look of pure bewilderment.  “Huh?”

Morty, exasperated, shook his head.  “I mean, i-if you have a better idea, Summer, then share it, because I-I’m all ears.”

To his relief, Summer just shrugged and waved a hand, her blessing given.  When the recording had run it’s course, Summer pressed the play button again like he had told her.  This time around, Morty was focused in like a hawk, hearing every sound, every stutter.  The pen flowed in his hands as he realized that maybe there was some sort of truth to his theory.

It took three more playbacks, but Morty was sure that he got every single word that was repeated by Rick.  When Morty was finished, he looked down at his handiwork.  The words 305, spruce, aspen, boulevard, Coors, south, sixteen, and the name Miles had been spoken at least twice over the course of the message.  Summer peeked over his shoulder to examine the list, her eyes narrowed, the gears of her head already turning.

“Look at the last three,” she pointed out, “south, sixteen, and Miles.  It kinda sounds like sixteen miles south.”

Far too deep into his efforts to be excited at the revelation, Morty brought the paper closer to him and his sister.  “Yeah, b-but-?”

“So wait,” Summer continued on, uncertainty creeping into her voice.  “Sixteen miles south.  Is this a place he’s showing us?  Sixteen miles south of the house?  Sixteen miles south of his hometown?  What if it’s sixteen miles south of whatever planet he just happened to be holed up in?”

Morty looked down again at the words.  The code aside—spruce, aspen, boulevard, and Coors had to mean something.  And if Miles wasn’t referring to the name, what if spruce and aspen weren’t referring to the trees?

“Hey, hey, S-Summer, do you think there are any people n-named Spruce or Aspen,” Morty pondered aloud. 

Summer snorted.  “Yeah, and maybe I’m not really named Summer.  I’m actually named Oaktree McGee and I love living in the wilds of my people.”

Okay, harsh, but Morty saw her point.   It was an absurd theory as is—a long shot among the millions of ideas that he’d tried and failed at already.  “Well, wh-what about places,” Morty tried again, “towns, cities?  S-something like that?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Summer didn’t even miss a beat in replying.  “Aspen, Colorado is, like, one of the most famous towns in the state.  People go there to ski and stuff all the time.”

Again, Morty returned to the list.  Then, something struck him, and that was what finally got that excitement flowing.  Maybe some sort of epiphany.  Or maybe it was just a stroke of idiocy.  Either way, Morty supposed that he was already so far off the road that whatever thought he had wasn’t going to go unnamed.

“Hey, hey Summer, I t-think I got it!” he exclaimed.  “Coors!  What about Coors, r-right?!  Yeah, i-it’s a beer, but where’s it made?  Th-they say it all the time in t-the commercials!  In the Rocky Mountains!  In Colorado!  Aspen’s in the Rocky Mountains, right?!”

It took a moment, but then his sister’s eyes began to gleam.  “Oh my God, that…that actually makes sense! But…but wai- holy shit.  Morty, what if 305 isn’t a code?” Summer’s voice was hardly above a whisper, but the enthrallment in it made her words trumpet across the room.  “What if it’s an  _address_?”

That left two words left.

“305 Spruce Boulevard,” Morty finished.  “Summer, can you look it up?  See if it’s a place?”

Summer was on it before the words even left his mouth.  She pulled out her phone and clicked the address in with lightning fast precision.  When she pressed enter, Morty came around to her side and waited for the results with baited breath.  After a time, a little red pin was dropped onto the screen.

“Yeah, there’s a 305 Spruce Boulevard at the base of some Keefe Peak in Colorado,” Summer’s voice was now rising.  “About…about sixteen miles outside of Aspen.”

“305 Spruce Boulevard, s-sixteen miles south of Aspen, Colorado,” Morty breathed out, heart pounding like it was on one of Rick’s adventures again.  “T-that’s where w-we need to go, right?”

Summer looked at him, looking just as enthralled.  “I-I think so.”

Morty tried to grab the phone again.  “H-how far is it?” he demanded.

Summer clicked through her phone a few times and pulled up the directions. “It’s about sixteen hours by car,” she reported, a slight apprehension dawning on her face.  “We’d get there within a day or two if we hurry.”

Trepidation was suddenly washing over Morty, too, who looked down and studied his shoes.  “What are we going to tell Mom and Dad?” he mumbled.

“We won’t,” his sister’s voice was hard.

That sent shivers of both relief and anxiety up Morty’s back.  “A-are you sure?” he mumbled, looking for a scapegoat.  “What if the Federation n-notices that we’re gone, and then t-they’ll ask questions for Mom and Dad.  They could get kidnapped, t-tortured-“

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Summer cut over him.  “How about this?  I’ll just say that we were invited up to my friend’s house for the weekend and they’re letting you tag along.  It’s not like we’re staying there for more than a few days anyway.  Mom and Dad’ll probably be happy that we’re getting out of the house for once.”

Alright, that seemed like a pretty solid plan.  Go and investigate Rick’s isolated whatever in the middle of the Rockies and be back before any suspicions were raised.  Morty grabbed the hologram disc, shut it off, and pocketed it for safekeeping.  “I w-wonder what we’ll find up there?” he wondered aloud, attempting to conceal his misgivings.  “I mean, this w-was a twenty-year-old r-recording.  Think we’ll even get an a-answer?”

“This is Grandpa Rick we’re talking about, Morty.  If he went so far out of his way to hide something, then it’s probably worth hiding.” Summer pointed out, sounding almost as stubborn as him.  “Now come on.  We gotta find where Mom and Dad put the ski coats.”

-X-

Everything went much smoother than Morty could have ever predicated.  Summer took care of all the technical stuff, saying that her friends had invited her to a stay in their cabin by the lake for the weekend and that they were allowing Morty to come with them (the hardest part for Morty was trying to come up with the enthusiasm for a trip that was practically the opposite of what was actually in store for them).  Beth took it surprisingly well, remarking on how getting out of the house would be good for them.  She left it at that, and it began to dawn on Morty about how good his sister was at lying.  She’d flashed a warm, but not too forced smile and even offered to call up her nonexistent friends’ parents for Beth.  Little pieces like that were the key: Morty made a mental note to be aware for it if Summer was ever trying to sweet-talk him.

The next few days were a rush.  Summer had gone out and bought everything they needed—food, flashlights, batteries, and water bottles.  Morty had rummaged around the house for anything else they could use and wasn’t disappointed.  They found two ski coats that might have belonged to their parents when they were kids, one red and one black.  Summer took the black one for herself and left Morty with a ski coat that was a touch too big, but would suffice anyway.  He found sleeping bags, an old tent kit, kindling sets, and an atlas of the United States that had mapped out each state individually.  Together, they had enough supplies to last them about three days in complete isolation.

Morty sat through the remainder of his school week in a daze, not really paying attention, not really caring.  He and Summer spent their lunches at home working out their plan of getting to Colorado, using the map to highlight all the possible back routes if the traffic was too heavy or if the Federation got on their tails somehow.  There was an air of excitement that flooded through the air, something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. 

On the night they were supposed to leave, Morty laid his clothes out on his desk and collapsed into his bed for some much needed rest.  When he closed his eyes, he felt like he’d barely gotten five minutes of sleep before someone was shaking him awake.

Moaning, Morty rolled and caught sight of Summer rocking him to rouse him.  “It’s time to go,” she hissed.  Morty mumbled something incoherent and tried to roll over, but then he was suddenly hooked from under the elbows.  He would have gasped, and in turn probably woken the whole house up, but his sister clamped a hand over his mouth.

“Come on, it’s time to get on the road,” Summer’s voice was dangerously low and sounded vaguely threatening as she pulled him to his feet. “I want to start driving before any traffic hits us.”

Morty managed to unstick Summer’s hand from his mouth while he tried to find his balance.  “it’s like two i-in the morning!” was his protest.

He couldn’t see very clearly, but he could imagine that Summer was taking a moment to roll her eyes before responding.  “It’s three in the morning, actually.  Now come on, haste makes waste.”

“Fine, f-fine, just let go of me.”

There was a pause, like Summer had completely forgotten she still had an iron grip on him, and then he was free.  Morty stumbled away and brushed himself off, irritated.  He gave Summer a pointed stare, and she seemed to get the message, because she scurried to the door and left without complaining.  “I want you down to the car in five minutes,” she breathed out before exiting.

Now it was Morty’s turn to roll his eyes, but he trudged over to his clothes and began to dress himself nonetheless.

Heading downstairs, he could see that his sister was waiting for him next to the two duffel bags they’d packed.  Summer’s outfit was all black; black jacket, black pants, black beanie, and thick black boots, and she blended well into the dark shadows of the house.  Her ginger hair was stuffed into the hat with wisps of red sticking out at odd angles that she forced back under with a huff of exasperation and a swipe of her hand.  She looked like a secret agent, acted like one too.  Summer’s eyes sparkled with a wild exhilaration that had been missing from her for a half of a year. Maybe she was finding that sort of jolt from their former adventures in going off the grid like this.  He could feel it too, like it was trying to resurface after months of burial, but a layer of cautiousness was holding it down.  All Morty could feel was a sense of unease, like they were falling into something that he couldn’t really fathom. 

Summer nodded to the duffel bags and seized one herself, leaving Morty to take the other.  Together, they lugged them to the garage and proceeded to stuff them into Summer’s car.  As Summer manually raised the garage door, Morty shoved his duffel into the trunk but found that he couldn’t manage the other.  It was too heavy, weighed down by God knows what.

“Are you done?” his sister demanded as Morty struggled to heave the bag into the car.

Morty grit his teeth.  “I’m trying, Summer!  Jeez, what’d you p-put in these things, dumbbells?”

“Jesus, Morty,” Summer’s voice cut through the darkness.  And suddenly, she was at his side and pushing the duffel into the back on her 2006 Accord.  “It’s not that fucking hard.”

“Easy for y-you to say.”

“If you’re just going to be a little shit, Morty, you might as well just stay home.  I don’t need sixteen hours straight of you being a turd.”

“W-well, if you’re just going to be a massive bitch, you m-might as well just let me d-do the driving.  At least I can pilot the s-spaceship, so how hard can a car be?”

“Kids?"

Morty and Summer immediately closed their mouths and turned to the garage door.  Beth stood in the open doorframe, robed and holding a cup of coffee. Her eyes were wide, different emotions already sprouting in the minimal light.  Morty saw Summer guiltily drop her hands, and he wondered for a moment if they should just hop into the car and drive away before their mother began to chew them out.

Amidst all the mindsets that were forming on her face, Morty was shocked to find that anger was not one of them.    “You’re not going to your friend’s house, are you?” was her only question.  Still, the hurt in her voice hit him like a baseball bat over the shoulders.

“I-I,” Morty stammered, suddenly conscious of everything around him.  What he was wearing, what he was shoving in the trunk, the fact that Summer looked like something straight out of an Ocean’s 11 movie, and that they were leaving at three in the morning for something that was obviously not what they claimed it would be.  He could feel sweats breaking out across his forehead.  They hadn’t even left the house yet and they’d been caught like misbehaving toddlers.

Summer looked around, looking like she was attempting to keep a hold on her panic.  “We…we just wanted to go early,” she gave Beth a weak excuse as she shuffled slightly over to the side of the car.  Morty, following her lead, crept over to the shotgun seat.  “Beat the traffic, right?”

But their mother only shook her head.  “Summer, you lied about going to your friends, and you lied about why you’re taking Morty,” her voice was icy.  “If you want to make it strike three, then by all means, try me.”

Morty balled his hands in and out.  “It was my idea,” he blurted suddenly.

All of their mother’s attention suddenly fell squarely on his shoulders.  He could feel Summer’s eyes burn into his back, and hear her whisper to shut up, but Morty stepped forward and pulled out the hologram disc.  “We figured out w-what Rick was trying to tell us.  W-we were going to try and see what he wanted us to find,” Morty explained.

Beth blinked.  Morty could tell her anger was starting to thaw.  “So…you’re going where, exactly?”

“Er…Colorado,” Summer piped up sheepishly from the other side of the car.

Their mother blinked, shook her head, and sighed.  “If I was a rational person, I would say that you weren’t allowed to go.  And I’m not going to lie, I’m very angry that you two didn’t simply tell me the truth,” she paused, perhaps to recollect her thoughts, or maybe to ponder her options.  “I want you two to call me every single day you’re gone.  No excuses.  I want constant communication, okay?”

Holy shit, they were getting off that easy?  It was almost comical, this entire situation; being caught, being in the grasp of Beth’s wrath, and then just being let go.  The way Beth’s face seemed to sag when he mentioned Rick and the hologram made older memories resurface, particularly of the way she had spoken to her father when he returned from his rendezvous with Unity.  She sounded so fearful of her words, her confidence fluttering like an old leaf helpless on the wind.  And when Rick merely shrugged, she looked shocked.   _“O-Okay?”_ her voice had faltered in a way that strongly reminded Morty of himself,  _“’Okay’ as in you’re going to quietly teleport somewhere and never come back?”_

He then thought back to the day she’d given him the disc, and the way that resentment had engulfed her face for the briefest of moments.  And suddenly, Morty felt like he could understand the entire story. 

Maybe she wasn’t hurting any worse than the rest of them with Rick being gone.

But she’d been hurting the longest. 

“I’ll tell y-you if we find anything,” Morty promised her.

Beth gave him a slight smile.  I…I…thank you, sweetie.”

“Morty,” came Summer’s hiss.  She opened the driver’s door and was climbing inside.  “Come on, we’re going.”

He gave his mother an awkward smile as he felt around for the door handle.  “And don’t tell Dad for u-us, please?”

“…Alright, and Summer, keep your brother out of trouble,” was Beth’s sendoff.

Morty finally found the latch and practically fell into the shotgun seat.  Summer had he keys in the ignition and the car rumbled to life in the dim workspace around them.  Her spike in irritation was palpable.  “I hope that this doesn’t backfire, Mr. ‘let’s-not-have-Mom-and-Dad-know-anything-so-they-don't-get-captured-by-the-Federation.’”

“Okay, okay, I-I get it,” Morty snapped, too tired to fight her about anything at this hour.  “If this bites us in t-the ass, then b-blame me.”

Summer crinkled her nose, as if she was forcing down something unpleasant, but said no more.  The map was shoved into Morty’s lap.  “You’re taking me to I-35 south,” she snapped.  “I want to make it to Des Moines by seven.  We’ll buy breakfast when we swing around to route 80.”

Nodding, and still shaking slightly, Morty took up the map as Summer backed the car out of the garage and pulled a perfect K-turn before they were screeching down the street.  Morty’s last image of their home had it enveloped in darkness.  It was a perfectly calm night, with a little frost and a little chill that made the entire town stand still.  The Federation buildings in the distance sparkled like the fake stars they were.  False promises and nothing else, Morty thought. Beth closing the garage door, a small hesitation in her movements like she was still unsure about the whole thing, and unsure if she made the right choice

Well, I guess that made two of them. 

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just take a moment to talk about Morty and Summer and how realistic their relationship on the show is?
> 
> Coming from someone in pretty much the same position but reversed (I have a 21 year old brother compared to my 18 year old self), I really love their dynamic and love how realistic it can get. Like, they'll fight and do things that'll piss each other off that often ends in kicks to the balls (or sucker punches to the stomach in my case), but it's obvious that they still care about each other and when times get tough, they'll be there for the other. I think it's because I watch Gravity Falls on top of this and while I love Dipper and Mabel's relationship, the whole point is that they get along unnaturally well, and not a lot of other shows I watch explore sibling relationships (and don't say Supernatural because that shit is unhealthy co-dependency). I don't know, maybe it's the idealist in me, but I would love to see their relationship explored more in season 3. But who knows. Wishful thinking, probably.
> 
> Thanks for reading and please leave a comment if you enjoyed!


	5. It's a Big Universe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments for the last few chapters, guys! They mean a ton to me. 
> 
> This is something you'll hear a LOT, but sorry for the huge size of this chapter. Believe it or not, I was hoping I could squeeze more into it but in the end it clocked in at about 5,800 words and I decided to move it to the next chapter. Happy reading!

After two years of traveling via flying saucer followed by several months of going by car, Morty was feeling a sense of figurative travel whiplash.  Summer’s old car could drive well, and Morty got a feeling that she wasn’t letting up on the gas even a bit, but there wasn’t that sense of wonder anymore, no sense of mystery or adventure.  There was something about the whole situation that kept him spinning his wheels, like some perpetually turning device that was destined to travel the same short circular path forever.  This wasn’t some mystical adventure to planets and dimensions beyond normal comprehension.  It was just a road trip to someplace real and manageable, someplace that was within the realm of any normal human.  Rick had taken that mysticism with him when he’d gone, and left his two grandchildren with a forest green sedan that made strange groans when Summer slammed on the brakes too hard.

Weird how Morty could feel sentimental over what was essentially a flying hunk of garbage, but there wasn’t really anything of Rick’s he _wasn’t_ missing as the two of them drove through the rest of the Midwest.  There was a word for that, but Morty couldn’t remember it for the life of him.  The word melancholy popped into his head a few times; he supposed it was correct, but he had his sneaking doubts.

The world lit up into dawn, turning the trees back from stone and giving them fiery reds and sunny yellows to coat the mountainsides.  The sun rose pink between two hills and showered the highways in pale light.  It was all nice, really, with virtually no cars around them to clog the roads and nothing else to really distract them from the view. 

Summer was flooring the car the entire time—Morty didn’t think the needle dipped below eighty the entire way to Iowa.  His sister maneuvered the wheel with a fierce determination, weaving them in and out of scattered clumps of traffic with motor skills that no seventeen-year-old should possess.  With her at the wheel and Morty with the map, they drove for a seemingly short time before they started seeing the upcoming exits for Des Moines.

They swung onto Route 80 by 6:45 in the morning.  Like promised, Summer brought Morty to a shabby breakfast shack where he could relieve himself while she brought their meal (and thank God for that, because Morty had skipped out on the bathroom back home, too worried that the sound of the toilet would wake their parents up.  He swore his bladder ruptured somewhere back in Mason City).  His sister awaited his return with a toasted bagel and a reprimand to stop wasting time, and the two of them were back on the road not long after.

As the sun climbed higher and higher into the sky, the roads soon became clogged with traffic.  Families seeking to get away from their homes for the holidays with skis, snowboards, and tubes strapped to the roofs of their cars.  Alien tourists who wanted to cross coasts to the warmer sides of the country.  A spaceship or two that would zoom over their heads, more often than not some Federation sanctioned ship like the ones that were loaded with all of Rick’s stuff.  There was a jam around every major city Morty and Summer drove by.  Signs with runes on them blocked out all scenery with promises of food and attractions.  It made the whole world appear very orderly but with no passion in it.  Instead, the world was a tight hose; a machine line that transported commodities instead of people.  It all felt very tight and clogged, the air around him and Summer so stifling that Morty could practically smell the agitation of the other drivers besides them.

It didn’t help that the roads were clotted so thickly with humans and aliens alike if one was in a hurry to get somewhere.  When they reached the exits to Avoca about six hours into the drive, Summer looked ready to burst with fury at the ten-mile blockage before them.  “Seriously?” she hissed through gritted teeth as the cars in front of them crawled forward, inch by agonizing inch.  

When they got to the border between Iowa and Nebraska, several hours had passed with little change and plenty of colorful swears from the two siblings that would have made Rick both proud and concerned.  At last, after they started the seven mile strip of Route 29 that would take them across the state line, the traffic had lifted a touch and the day was starting to wind down into twilight.  Morty was feeling himself start to nod off, noticing that Summer was still trying to be attentive at the wheel but there was a distant, glazed look in her eyes.  Some car honked at them suddenly, which caused the two of them to jump out of their trance.  Grumbling darkly, Summer switched on the headlights.  “Stupid fucking alien…” Morty heard her say, “it’s not even that fucking dark out.”

Morty glanced outside just in time to see a sign whiz by them, written curiously in both runes and English.  “Identification station, five miles,” he read aloud as the car traveled along the road.  “What’s that?  I-is that new?”

Summer wasn’t paying attention.  “Great,” she snarled instead.  “Another fucking jam.”

The car moaned in protest as Summer slammed the breaks and came to a stop behind hundreds of other vehicles.  The air around them was charged with some sort of tension that Morty could feel but couldn’t understand.  It made his skin crawl, made the hairs on his arm stand on end.  All around them were different reactions from different human travelers, yet almost all aliens reacted the same.  The couple in the car on their right gave each other bewildered stares, as did the family behind that car, which Morty could see in the side mirror.  Directly behind them, a man and a woman were taking out their drivers’ licenses and shrugging.  In the car on their left, on the other hand, a group of Fluxulons kept chatting and joking in their Hertz rental car like this was no big deal.  If it wasn’t a big deal, then why did Morty feel so uneasy?

He tried to think back to the last time something the Federation did which really shocked him.  Well, in hindsight, there were many, but what about in terms of travel?  He thought back to returning from the wedding, and then he thought back to dimension 35-C.  Identification station…identification station…he’d been through one of those before, hadn’t he?  The poking of his tongue with that needle had nearly pierced a hole right through it.  That was the way the Federation kept tabs on-

Oh shit.

“Summer, get off the highway,” Morty ordered, panic expanding throughout his body. 

His sister snapped her head up from the dashboard.  “Wha-?”

“J-just get us o-off the highway.  Come on.”  At this point, Morty was ready to grab the wheel and pull them off the freeway himself.

Summer shot him another bizarre look but the fear in his voice must’ve convinced her that this wasn’t a joke, because she immediately clicked the turn signal on and began the slow process of shifting lanes to get on the nearest exit ramp. 

The two of them sped off the highway about three miles from the identification station.  The side roads were blissfully empty, and Morty quickly found a way over the state line without having to go through all the traffic that the station was causing.  Both of them were silent for a while, drowning in the endless possibilities of what would have come.  Along the route Morty had plotted, Summer turned onto a bridge back over Route 29, and Morty got a clear view of this identification station.

It looked like a normal tollbooth, like an EZ-Pass station or something like that.  It was being monitored by Gromflomites who were posted at every entrance and exit.  From what he could tell, the cars would pull up and the Gromflomites would lower their ID needles into the car.  Something would flash on the screen and the car would then be directed to one of two areas.  One led back to the highway, the other towards a bigger looking building a few hundred feet off the road where several Federation spaceships waited in the parking lot.  In the distance, the cars were quickly piling on, the confusion of humans and the acceptance of aliens blending together in one giant hodgepodge of a traffic jam.

“Geez,” Summer breathed, disbelief ringing through her voice.  “NSA much?  What is wrong with these guys?”

As they pulled back onto the road, Morty uncapped his pen and started crossing off their previous directions.  Summer raised an eyebrow.  “What’s up with all that?”

“If t-those identification stations are at every state line,” Morty explained as he started tracing new routes with the pen, “then we need to avoid them, r-right?”

Summer didn’t answer him.  Her grim expression said it all as they rolled down the street.

Night had fallen when they decided that it was time to stop.  They stopped at a little motel for the night about thirty miles outside of Omaha.  Summer ignored the clerk’s odd looks as she dolled out several twenties and they were eventually directed to their rundown room on the second floor.  It had two beds and a nice deck overlooking the pool, the sky outside a pale gray from the weather and the lights of the city twinkling on the other side of the building.  The two siblings crossed the street for dinner at a strip mall amongst a dozen or so alien tourists trying to buy human delicacies.  In the restaurant, they squeezed and shoved and stared at the two of them like they themselves were attractions.  Summer’s lips grew thin and Morty could feel himself burning up in humiliation at the idea that every single eye in the room were on them.  Too tight, too tight, this place was _too tight._ In the end, Summer and Morty paid for a pizza and returned to the room to eat in silence.  Morty bit into his slice half-heartedly, too far away to enjoy any of it.

Before they went to bed, Morty went to the deck and quickly dialed their mother.  She answered the phone pretty quickly and he went about explaining their day.  She listened with rapt attention, stopping him only to ask a question or two every once and a while. 

“Your father still believes the lake house story,” Beth admitted later.  “He’s excited these days.  Apparently he’s supposed to be getting a raise soon.”

Morty blinked in surprise.  To be honest, Jerry getting a raise would be the most shocking thing that he’d seen in the last year, and he’d been to a dimension where human’s mated by sticking their feet in their partner’s mouths.  “Oh, r-really?  That’s…I g-guess that’s cool.”

Beth hesitated over the line for a moment, the static causing a rift.  “Your father thinks I should quit the horse hospital,” her voice had gone flat again, low with disgruntlement.  “He said that if he got the raise, then maybe he can set some money aside for me to go to a local medical school and get an… _actual_ doctorate.”  The word “actual” was spoken like it was forced through her teeth. 

“T-that’s good, right?  Are y-you going to quit t-the hors-, t-the clinic?”

“I don’t know, sweetie,” Beth sighed.  “Listen, it’s late and we both have early days’ tomorrow.  Text me when you wake up.  Give Summer my love, okay?”

“O-okay.  Bye Mom.”

“Bye Morty.  Love you.”

“Love you too.”

The line went dead.  And sitting there on that porch, with his legs dangling through the metal bars, watching the snow flutter gracefully downwards and dusting the pool covers, Morty felt nothing but a deep, hollow sense of guilt.

As figured, they did start early the next day.  Summer roused him at four in the morning and they were checked out by a quarter past.  Away they rolled in the car as the sun rose again, dogging them on their journey.

Morty and Summer rolled along at their brisk pace back on Route 80.  They dodged all toll booths and identification stations they could manage, fearful of being tracked.  Nebraska became Colorado.  Rolling plains became mountainsides and snowy fields.  Jagged stone teeth rose in the distance so it seemed like the two of them were traveling through the jaws of the country.  The snow started not too long into the second day, where a couple of flurries blew past them.  Then, inexplicably, the snow got heavier and heavier until it washed the world away into streams of white.  You couldn’t see ten feet in front of you, it was so thick at times.  With the traffic, the weather, and the view, it was enough to slow the car down even further. 

Little happened.  Route 80 morphed into Route 76 and then into Route 82.  Before Morty knew it, they were rolling into Aspen after another twelve hours.  The sun was rapidly descending into a fiery end between two cliffs.  The signs all around them had been pointing to different ski resorts and attractions for the last several exits.  They turned off at the marked exit and headed south towards a variety of hiking mountains.  On a sign, Morty noticed Keefe Peak marked at the very bottom. 

The snow was falling thicker and thicker as they rolled along the back roads for the final few miles of their trip.  They took Morty and Summer up into the Rockies and dipped them down into the valleys, rocking the car and making Morty feel relatively queasy.  Morty distantly recalled asking his sister if the car was all wheel drive and she answered with a terse “no”, so he blocked out the swaying feelings of his stomach and the swirling snow around the car and tried focusing on the destination at hand.  It was so close—up this mountain, then the next, then the next, over and over again.

Finally, blissfully, Summer pulled the car to a squeaky stop on the side of the road.   “We’re here,” she announced, looking sort of put out for some odd reason.

Morty unbuckled his seat belt and slid out of the car.  Evergreens surrounded them on all sides, giving him a sense of feeling encaged.  The sunlight was quickly fading and transforming the snow’s orange shine into cold rock.  There was a brisk chill that swept through the air, numbing his hands and biting at his face, so Morty pulled the collar of his ski coat up to his nose and breathed deeply.  The air around them smelled wild, like pines and stone and water and dirt that hadn’t been disturbed by anyone in a long time.

“Where’s the house?” Morty asked, the words muffled by his mouthful of fabric.

Summer didn’t answer—she was too busy pulling out the duffel bags from the trunk.  As she tossed one to Morty and kept the other for herself, she pointed to a small trail off to the side of the car.  It was a road, sure, in the same sense that a rocky strip of sand could be considered a beach.  Trees pressed up against it, giving it a dark and shaded atmosphere that made Morty apprehensive just looking at it.  A street sign had been knocked over with time, the faded words of “Spruce Boulevard” dusted with powder from the recent storms.

The road was so narrow that trying to fit Summer’s car through it was a hopeless endeavor.  “A-are you s-sure the ca-car will be s-s-safe?” Morty instead asked through chattering teeth, trying to keep the dread out of his voice.

Summer slammed the car trunk shut and clicked the keys to lock it.  Her pale skin was already starting to turn pink from the worst of the winds, and she pulled her beanie down in an effort to protect herself.  “Who’s going to steal it, a bear?” she countered, drawing out a flashlight from her bag.  As she pulled another one out and tossed it to him, she flashed a wary look to the road that waited for them.  “W-we better get going.  If we don’t find it by sundown, we should come back to the car and wait the night out.”

Morty nodded his agreement and fell behind Summer as the two of them plodded through the snow and into the unknown.  And so they walked, on and on and on until the path became narrower and the sky grew darker.  It was a good thing Summer had the foresight to buy flashlights, because the evergreens blocked out virtually all the remaining sunlight and made the space around them feel twenty degrees colder.  The frozen air burned Morty’s lungs after a while, who became surprised that his breath didn’t immediately solidify into blocks of ice in midair.  He bristled at every single sound, be it an owl or a bush rustling or even snow falling off the branches of some trees overhead.  The iciness gnawed at him, making him jump as if he felt hands pinching against his skin.  Snow crunched underfoot with every step and coming at one point up to Morty’s thighs.  The road took several sharp turns and steep climbs that left the two of them panting and exhausted. Despite it all, Summer forced on and never stopped, so Morty bit his lip and kept his eyes on her ginger hair as they pushed onward.

At last, they came to something that was mildly interesting, if not extremely off-putting.  About a mile from the car, Summer and Morty found themselves having to enter a small space between two cliff sides to continue along Spruce Boulevard.   As they approached, they found it blocked by a barricade of tree trunks and boulders.  The darkness was falling rapidly, but Morty could still quite clearly see the intricate way that the trees were positioned.  They crossed over each other, forming a giant “X” with felled logs at least twenty feet long.  Boulders as big as himself had been rolled over to keep them in place as well as limiting the space to squeeze through.  It reminded him of a spider web, all of it tightly wound together with vines and other plants.  Real survivor stuff, like something Morty would see them do on _Naked and Afraid_.  If someone wanted to send a message, then this was definitely the way to do it.  Summer sighed bitterly and kicked some snow with her foot, a simple method of releasing her pent up anger.  “Grandpa Rick did _not_ want this place to be found, did he?”

“I-I guess not.  It’s f-far enough out of the way a-as it is, though.” _So why make this and go through all the extra trouble?_

“Think Grandpa Rick set this stuff up?” Summer ignored his statement and approached the barricade, attempting to fit her leg through a gap in the branches.

Morty snorted despite himself; imagining his scrawny grandfather setting up something as heavy and manual as this was the first funny thought he’d had in a while.  “Not without h-help,” he decided.

Summer nodded her agreement and retreated back to him, shouldering her duffel.  “Let’s head back to the car and eat,” she finally declared, casting one more frustrated glance back to the tree barricade.  “If we try to go around, we’ll get lost, and if we try to climb it, we might break something.  We need daylight.”

Morty stopped himself at the last moment from sighing with relief.  What he really needed right now was a good rest and a meal.  “Do w-we have enough money for another ni-night at a hotel?” he dared to be hopeful as he scanned the fresh snow for their tracks.

Summer fell besides him and shook her head.  “I wish.  We have enough to pay for the gas to get us back to the house and that’s it.  We’ll start a fire back at the car and heat something up.  Then we can lower the seats and sleep.  I’ll…I’ll figure something out in the morning.”

“Y’know, you don’t have to fi-figure everything out by y-yourself,” Morty found himself arguing but quickly swallowed his words.  To his surprise, Summer voice was light with acceptance.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right.  I should have asked you,” in that moment, Morty realized how dead on her feet Summer sounded.  She probably wanted to curl up in a bed more than he did.  “We’ll talk about it in the morning, okay?”

“Since when d-did you get so nice?”

“Shut up, Morty, I’m tired.”

“M-maybe you should be tired more often.  You’ll b-be less of a p-pain then.”

“Ha ha, very funny.  You can drive sixteen hours next time.”

They both laughed at that.  The next few minutes were spent in a comfortable silence as Morty took up the lead back to the car and Summer fell behind him.  They followed their footprints back into the trees and down the hills that they formerly climbed not too long ago.  Morty felt his knees relaxing and the winds not as biting as they neared the car.

“Hey, Summer, do you think that Rick really set something u-up here?” Morty asked again.

Silence greeted his words.

Puzzled, he turned around to find himself trailed by nothing but darkness.  Where his sister should have been, there were nothing but the silhouettes of pine trees.  Morty scanned the ground for footprints only to discover that the only set he could see were his own.

“Summer?!” he raised his voice.

Still no response. 

Fear as cold as the ice around him gripped his heart.

“S-Summer!”

And suddenly, Morty was running, sprinting, back up the road, waving his flashlight around in an effort to see any sign of his sister.  Unanswered questions flooded through his mind.  Hadn’t she been right behind him?  How long had he been unaware of her disappearance?  Where would she run off?  What had she found?  Or what had found her? 

_Just don’t think about it.  Don’t think about it.  Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think._

Back up the road he raced, a chorus of the word shit playing over in his head with each step Morty took.  About halfway back up the hill, Morty spotted his old footprints mingling with the wide prints that had belonged to Summer’s designer snow boots.  Another scan of the ground with the flashlight, and Morty found his answer.  There was a spot were Summer’s footprints suddenly became tight and bunched together, almost like she had seen something and was bracing herself.  Then, they became drag marks. Her duffel bag sat abandoned as well as half buried in the snow at the edge of the bushes.  Morty had been so caught up in returning to the car that he continued walking on, unaware of any disturbance.  But in the meantime, Summer had been taken away.

The entire area was flattened by footprints and scuffling, and Morty fruitlessly tried to find his sister’s direction with no luck.  Fighting down his rising state of alarm, Morty took a deep breath.  Focus.  Focus on what you can control.  Morty forced himself to calm down and take another listen.  There was that owl again, and some sort of wind that seemed to be blowing through the trees at an odd angle.  A clump of snow fell somewhere in the distance.  Aside from that, the forest around Morty was deathly silent.  He waved his flashlight around, hoping to catch some sort of shadow.

Suddenly, the wind stopped blowing.  Then, it turned into a strangled hacking sound.  The hell kind of tree was it blowing through?  Wait, could the wind hack?

And just like that, the chorus of shits upgraded to a symphony of fucks.

Morty tore off the path for the direction of the coughing.  He’d bailed on the duffel bag back on the road.  Too much weight.  As he leapt over a fallen log, he caught sight of the biggest footprint he’d ever seen.  It was as wide as a dinner plate, and had sunken deep into the snow with untold amounts of weight and muscle.  Morty kept running but realized that his stomach had been left somewhere behind by that fallen log.  His face was paling fast, but he told himself it was just the cold. 

He was running so hard that Morty nearly missed the hulking black mass if not for Summer managing a cough right as he flew past.  His flashlight drifted over the biggest looking _thing_ that Morty had ever seen, on world or off.  It bent over his sister like she was a piece of prey, and she was struggling under the weight of it’s entire body.  Large hands or paws or whatever were closed around her throat but somehow Summer kept kicking and spitting and drawing air into her body, because she managed a rough “M-M-Morty,” when her windpipe should have been crushed.

Morty froze in his place, the flashlight shaking violently in his hands.  He was weaponless, helpless, and hopeless.

What to do?  What to do?

Rick would have fought the guy,

Or run.

So Morty did what he did best.

It only took one quick look to find something usable as a weapon.  A broken branch about as long as his forearm, sticking out of the snow and ready for whacking.  Morty seized it and rushed to his sister’s aid, who was still struggling under the iron grip of their assailant.  Without thinking, Morty swung the branch over the thing’s back with all of his strength.

But it was rotted from the weather.  Morty didn’t realize his mistake until the branch shattered over the attacker like cheap craft wood.  Fortunately, it was still enough to get the thing’s attention.

It turned on Morty, releasing his grip on Summer in the process, who drew in a shaky breath as her airway reopened.  The thing stood up, but it wasn’t a thing.  Not an animal and not an alien, but a man.  But holy hell, what a man he was.  World Strongest Man be damned.  As big as a grizzly and three times as bulky.   He was a silhouette, a shadow who blended into the night and melted into the background with a torn camouflage jumpsuit and black furs draped over his back.  The flashlight floated upwards to reveal tangled hair and a ratted beard that was slowly graying.  As the man caught sight of him, he narrowed his eyes and a scar down the side of his face rippled.  But perhaps the scariest thing about him was that blank, dead expression he wore.  It was almost animalistic in nature, how devoid of emotion he seemed to be.

Morty felt his momentary rush of confidence shrivel up inside of him.  He took one step backwards, then another, until his back was up against a tree. 

“L-l-look,” Morty’s stutter was always worse when he was frightened.  He was amazed he could even manage the single word, never mind a full sentence.  “We-we’ll leave now.  “O-okay?  “W-we can g-go now and n-never come b-b-back.  J-just don’t k-k-kill us, p-please.”

Summer was dragging herself through the snow away from the man, but he could only imagine she’d be rolling her eyes for eternity at how pathetic he sounded.

This huge man in front of him only looked with his dark blank stare.  Instead of responding, he lowered his shoulders and charged.

Morty threw himself out of the way just in time and without a moment to spare.  One more second and he’d be crushed against that tree like a mosquito.  Yet somehow, his own instincts seemed to kick in and Morty dived under the outstretched arm of his attacker just as he reached him.  The world seemed to shake as the dark man collided with the tree he was just standing in front of.  Morty chanced a glance behind him, hoping against hope that their assailant would have knocked himself out from the collision.  Unsurprisingly, he rose up like suffering a hit to the head was like getting flicked in the eye.   He turned back to Morty, lifeless eyes still staring.

Morty wanted to run so badly, but kept retreating backwards, aware that he was rapidly loosing space and sooner or later he would hit another tree and be penned up once more.  The dark man dropped his shoulders, preparing a second charge.

_Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think or you’re dead._

On a whim, Morty wound his foot up and kicked as hard as he could into the loose powder.  A spray of snow washed over the attacker just as he started his charge, and in that split moment, Morty held the advantage of sight.  He ducked out of the way as the dark man careened blindly past, rolling and coming up on his knees.  As the man skidded to a stop—Morty could practically see the wheels of his head turning while he looked around for him—and raised the flashlight.

The light flipped and turned, spinning in a brightened wheel until it bonked off of the man’s head and got stuck end-first in the snow.  Morty felt a rush of satisfaction until the man’s unfazed attention fell back to him.

“Morty,” Summer rasped somewhere behind him.  Her voice sounded like a cross between a chicken and a frog if they’d swallowed a mouthful of sandpaper.  “Run!”

Morty felt around on his body before the dark man could crash back down on him, trying to find something heavy enough to throw.  Nothing in his pants; oh shit, he was standing back up.  Nothing in the ski coat; now he was coming this way.  In his breast pocket, Morty’s fingers gripped the hologram disc tightly. The dark man loomed over him, a shadow ready to swallow him whole.

Morty unzipped the breast pocket and fished the hologram disc out.  Better to go out dying like a hero than a coward.  Here, in some mountain where he was never going to be returned back home.  Never going to be found.

He thought of his mother, how hopeful she’d sounded on the phone.  He thought of his father, cheerful and naïve as ever.  He thought of Summer, who was probably going to be next unless she could pull off a miracle.

He thought of Rick, destined to rot away in some fucking alien prison.

_Too big of a universe, am I right?_

Morty raised his arm, the hologram disc clutched in his fist and ready to be thrown.  His last stand, because fuck all of it.  But then, something odd happened.

For one, the dark man had stopped his attack, staring instead with wide eyes at the hologram disc.  They were no longer blank or expressionless.  There was a spark of reminiscence in the man’s gaze as he locked eyes with the teen.  Slowly now, the man approached him, to which Morty considered backing up again. But he only motioned for the disc.  Unsure of what to do, Morty chanced a peek out around the hulking mass of this attacker to his sister.  Summer was shaking against a tree and holding her throat as she took in deep ragged gasps for air.  If she was paying attention to this exchange, she gave no sign of it.

“Give.”

A single word broke the night with the strength of a sledgehammer.  The dark man’s voice scratched and grated worse than Summer’s and for all the wrong reasons.  It sounded old and faded, like an echo through a lost cavern.  Yet the word was spoken so sternly that Morty’s morale crumbled.  He lowered his arm and passed the hologram disc to the man.

He took it tenderly in his huge hands with a surprising amount of gentleness.  Moving like in a dream, he gave the bases a twist like he’d been doing it his whole life and out popped the hologram of their grandfather.  The blue shine lit the clearing where they had their fight and now Morty could see different sentiments passing over the dark man’s once empty face.  Nostalgia.  Anger.  Pride.  Frustration.  And finally acceptance.

He pointed to Morty in an accusing sort of fashion.  “How do you know Sanchez?”

In one sentence, a thousand questions erupted in Morty’s mind.  He opened his mouth and none of them came out.  “I-I’m Morty S-Smith and that’s m-my sister Summer,” he responded obediently.  There was something about the man, now that he wasn’t trying to murder them, that commanded attention and respect.  He didn’t know why: just a feeling, a presence.  “R-Rick’s our g-grandfather.”

“Yeah,” Summer wheezed from her safety post.  “Yeah, our dick of a grandfather.”

The dark man raised an eyebrow.  “Beth Sanchez?”

It seemed more like a question than a statement, so Morty nodded warily.  “Yeah, s-she’s our mother.  She g-goes by Beth Smith now, t-though.” 

By now the hologram message was done with it’s playback, but the dark man still held onto it and started at it.  “Are you Federation?” he asked through clenched teeth.

Boom, a million more questions for the collection.  The last minute was making Morty dizzy and the last twenty had made him ready to keel over.  “No, no, no, w-we aren’t f-from the Federation,” Morty shook his head.  “We just…we just…”

“What brought you here?”

This time, Summer took the lead.  “We found that hologram disc in our house, and we got the information from it that led us here.  Nice to see we were met with good company.”

“What brought you here?” came the question again.

Morty balled his fists, his understanding coming to a head.  “Rick was ca-captured by the F-Federation seven m-months ago.  He t-turned himself in t-to protect us,” he found himself explaining, maybe a little more than he needed to.  “We c-came here to see what h-he wanted us to f-find.”

The dark man’s eyes were shadowed, blending him into the background again if not for the pale light of Rick’s hologram.  He switched it off and tossed it back to Morty. 

“Follow,” was the only thing he said.

Morty felt his face contort with the ensuing lack of understanding.  “Wha-?“

But the man had already turned his back and was pushing through the undergrowth.

In a flash, Morty scrambled through the snow and reclaimed his flashlight.  The clearing once more illuminated, he returned for his sister.  Summer’s breathing still labored, and there were the purple and blue phantoms of fingers where the dark man had tried to strangle her, but aside from that she was at least standing on her own.  Morty offered his shoulder for support, and she accepted it with a grateful look and half of her body weight.  Together, the two of them pressed forward and followed the dark man back into the forest.

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and please review if you enjoyed! I love hearing all of your comments and they inspire me to keep going!


	6. The Scientist's Soldier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very dialogue heavy chapter. Also known as another exposition dump. Play with the hands you get, I suppose.

There were a few things about this scenario that were throwing Morty off from how he usually had his normal adventures. Maybe it was just because he was a little rusty, as not hopping through dimensions for several months will do that to you. Even so, he was still alive, and that was something. His blood was pumping so hard and so fast that the chill of the cold and the bite of the snow melted into the background, leaving nothing but a rush of sheer adrenaline that was channeled in his toes. No matter the dark man's sudden change in attitude, Morty had been in enough of these kinds of situations to know that nothing was ever cemented into place, and he had the physical and mental scars to prove it. Running from these kinds of situations, never trusting the man on your six, had been hardwired into his brain since his and Rick's little misadventures had started. He could practically hear his grandfather's doubts in his ears as he and Summer hurried through the snow and tried to keep pace with the dark man's huge strides.

Several things stuck out in Morty's mind as a deviation from the norm. For one, there was no Rick; no weapons, no smarts, and no protection. If there was another shift in emotion from their guide, Morty hypothesized that the best option was to bolt. Summer's steps became steadier with each passing step yet she too seemed tense. That same hardware must've been turning on for her too, that same instinct of distrust. And that was the other thing—Morty couldn't recall the last help he'd received on one of their adventures from a complete stranger. Well, okay, yeah, Birdperson had helped him, but look where that had gotten him. It always seemed like even Rick's closer acquaintances walked the fine line of friendship and wanting to strangle him. On a spectrum of Birdperson to Gearhead, people usually fell into their respective slots. So far, Morty couldn't get a good read on the dark man. He knew Rick, that much was true, but to what extent? For all Morty could understand, they could be walking to their execution. However, the aches in Morty's shoulders and thighs told him that this dark man could have rid himself of two unarmed teenagers a long time ago.

And so, Morty half dragged, half supported his sister for a while through the dead brush and snowy foliage as she recollected herself. The dark man had no flashlight or torch, but he seemed to know the way just fine. The three of them trekked through the woods until the plant life died away and they found themselves back on the road again. Morty could see his old sets of footprints now partially filled in with recent flurries. The dark man turned promptly and headed back up the hills, leaving Morty and Summer to continue their struggle to keep up. Back upwards they went, and soon they were panting again from the effort. Summer especially seemed to find it difficult, her breathing hitched and ragged as if hands were still clutched around her throat.

Eventually, they came back to the spot where Morty and Summer's duffel bags had been left behind, half buried under the powder where they'd left them. As the dark man passed them by without much of a second glance, Morty took the opportunity to nervously clear his throat.

"Um, e-excuse me?"

The dark man stopped.

"We j-just need our t-things. C-can you…?"

The words hung in the air before the dark man let out a gruff "quickly".

Morty hesitantly let go of Summer and allowed her to grab one duffel while he took his. Brushing snow off the black bags, they slung them back over their shoulders and moved forward through the winds. Back in line, one step through the snow, then the other. Keep going.

The world around them was quickly fading away into a pale white canvas by the time the three of them found themselves back at the tree barricade by the cliffs. The winds were rapidly picking up, slinging snow and hail at high speeds and rendering the protection of the trees useless. Without a moment's hesitation, the dark man seized one of the tree trunks and heaved upward, showing strength no one man alone should ever possess. The sound of vines snapping and wood splintering soon drowned out the weather as the whole thing was lifted up, revealing a space wide enough for Morty, Summer, and even their escort to crawl through.

His sister let out a small mumble, not moving. Morty nudged her. "C-come on," he hissed, but she stayed rooted in place. Her eyes were locked on the dark man's figure, her fingers moving slowly upwards to her throat.

The dark man was shooting them an annoyed look as if asking why they were wasting so much time, so Morty nudged Summer once more. "Give m-me the bag," he offered. Summer said nothing still, only moving to slide the duffel strap off of her shoulders and passing it to her brother.

Now with both bags on his back, Morty made his way to the broken barricade and slid under it. The cliff faces sheltered him from the worst of the squalls just a few feet behind him, and the snow couldn't fall as well here so there was at least sure footing. He waved Summer over but she seemed too far off to notice his efforts. Her eyes were open and alert, a distant look in them that made her seem light years away from where she was.

Morty's urgency came to a head. "S-Summer!"

Red hair flew over her face as she snapped out of her trance and stared at him.

"Let's go!"

Summer scrunched her face, looking as though Morty had just woken her up from a dream, and moved slowly to the barricade. She slipped underneath the branches in a clumsy manner and fell besides her brother, motioning for the duffel. After a moment's pause, Morty handed it back to her. "Are you g-good?" he breathed.

She nodded, green eyes wide still but now seemingly back down to earth. "Yeah….yeah, I'm sorry. I just-"

"Don't be," if there was a time and a place for this kind of stuff, it wasn't here. Morty only gave her a weak smile as compensation and a look that promised an in depth conversation later. Fortunately, Summer seemed to get the message, returning the look for a moment.

The ground under their feet trembled once more without warning. Morty turned on heel, only to see the dark man's body shoulder past him, leaving a wobbly, half broken barricade in his wake. Morty tore his eyes away and fell back into line, Summer joining him at the rear, finally looking as though she's snapped out of whatever funk she'd been in for the last mile.

Deeper and deeper they went. This path felt tight, choked from pressure. It became so narrow at times that the jagged stones would brush against Morty's clothes and snag at his jacket, nearly knocking him on his ass a few times. The dark man slipped in and out of the winding stones, his body weaving around the rocks like he'd been doing it his whole life, and so Morty tried to mimic his movements. The scraping of rubber soles on wet asphalt reverberated between the cliff sides, bouncing back and forth like some sort of bizarre tennis match that crept into his ears and made his stomach tighten.

But in a matter of minutes, they were outside in the frigid winds once more, and Morty could breathe again.

Spruce Boulevard became wider after that. The evergreens were not nearly as tight and the undergrowth was much sparser. Snow here was undisturbed, smooth and clean, and coming up to Morty's stomach at it's lowest point. It came to a point where they were just wading through the snow and trying to keep their chests above it. The dark man, of course, pushed on like he was walking through puddles rather than a heavy blizzard, so that left Morty and Summer to continue their scramble after their guide and trying to rush through the parts that weren't too deep.

They kept on for a long time, and it felt like it was extending into miles. And then, unceremoniously, there they were.

They came through the fog and the wind like apparitions, and Morty thought that he'd been outside so long that he was seeing things when they first appeared. Along the road, a few dozen houses were lined up, and once upon a time they might have been nice houses. Ski homes, perhaps, or some cabins for some sort of summer camp. They all looked pretty identical, or would have been if that were the case. Most of them were worn down with time, the roofs caving in or the walls crumbling or the foundations cracking and sending chunks of wood crunching in on itself. Some of them, more that Morty cared to count, were reduced to nothing more than a slab of concrete where a cabin might have once stood. They seemed faded through the winds and the snow, transparent almost. Drenched in blue and black shadows that made them seem ghastly and haunted. There were no footprints, cars, lights, or any other sign of life aside from the three souls walking down the road. A ghost town, lost to the grip of time.

Morty, Summer, and the dark man trudged along Spruce Boulevard in silence once more. Morty's instincts to run were slowly becoming bogged down as he saw more and more of the street and what had become of it. Summer's expression seemed just as conflicted, halfway between an understandable skepticism and halfway between a natural curiosity that appeared to be winning out. Morty shrugged his duffel bag back over his shoulders and pressed forward, silently taking in his surroundings.

It took some time and quite a few more ruined houses before they reached their final destination. The dark man turned abruptly to his right up to one of the ski cabins. This one, in comparison to it's companions, looked a little better put together. There was still that feeling of emptiness and abandonment that covered it like a blanket, but the roof was still intact and the walls at least were less lacking in cracks. An assortment of lawn ornaments stood half buried in the snow; a deer with the entire top half of it's head missing, a gnome that appeared to have taken a nosedive from the porch, a stone angel that sat forever in it's praying stance as if it wished someone would take it away from this place.

The steps to the porch were missing for some asinine reason, so Morty and Summer were forced to scramble onto it (the dark man was so huge that he could merely take one giant step onto the deck, which Morty, brushing slush and splinters off of his coat, enviously watched). Up close, Morty could see boarded up windows that replaced the glass long since fallen away. An ancient hunting rifle sat against a broken rocking chair, discolored and useless. On the door, the metal numbers had been ripped off but the outline of rust had still imprinted the address on it. The inscription of _305_ hung there in a sort of suspended animation.

Morty and Summer exchanged a glance of disbelief while the dark man chose to head inside. After another moment of hesitation, the two siblings briskly made for the door as well. A rush of wind whistled through their ears as they stepped inside and shut the door behind them.

Morty didn't know whether the inside or the outside of the cabin was more of a letdown. He wasn't sure what he was hoping for, but it certainly wasn't this. Stepping inside felt like he was going back in time about twenty years. The whole place reminded him strongly of his Grandma and Grandpa's house, right down to the ugly floral wallpaper that was well past it's prime. The interior offered little relief from the cold, and Morty could still see his breath billowing up towards the roof. A damp musk had long since settled into the place, adding to the persistent iciness. Worn and dusty furniture crowded around a large fireplace, the only place in the room that seemed remotely used. An old radio sat on a three legged table in the corner. Several cabinets and shelves were pressed up against the wall the fireplace was on. A table in the back of the room was covered end to end with papers and what looked like a large map of the area around them. Old crates were stacked in the corners, some filled but most of them empty. A darkened doorframe led to a deeper part of the house. There were no light sources or heaters that could dispel the gloom. The entire place had the feel of a fallout bunker. And considering Rick's "friends" on the spectrum, this would be the most unsurprising revelation Morty had encountered so far. Frankly, it was so normal in the grand scheme of things that he found it both refreshing and disconcerting at the same time.

The dark man threw the giant black fur into the corner and headed for the crates. He pulled one out and searched its contents, not bothering to give Morty or Summer an introduction. When he returned, he held three pieces of firewood that were thrown them into the fireplace. On the mantle was kindling, old yellowed newspapers torn into strips. From his person, the dark man produced a match and in a matter of moments a bright fire was roaring in front of them. The chill in the air dissipated immediately, and Morty found himself walking over to the armchairs like the world's most gullible moth, enraptured by the prospect of warmth.

The first cabinet the dark man reached for must have been a mistake, because he closed it almost as soon as he opened it and reached for the one next to it. But for a split second, Morty could've sworn that he'd seen the faint glow of a metal pistol lying on the ground.

From another, the dark man produced a tarnished pot and a can of food. The pot was quickly placed on a rack above the fire. The dark man reached to his belt and unsheathed a hunting knife. It glowed in the firelight: long, sharp, and deadly. Morty heard Summer take a hurried step back towards the front door.

But the dark man only stabbed it into the can and sawed the top off, then poured the contents into the pot. In a matter of seconds, the food was sizzling and filling the room with a comfortable aroma. Morty felt the last of his willpower die, and inched closer to the fire.

"So," their escort finally spoke. The empty can was tossed towards the stacked crates and bounced off them, but the dark man disregarded it and drew out another from the cabinet. "Sanchez is in prison, hm? So what, he's sending his…" he waved the knife around as he searched for the word, and Summer muttered something inaudible. "protégées to find me? Can't break out of Earth prison himself?"

Morty stood there, dumbfounded, as the dark man turned to him and handed him the knife and the can. "Open this, kid," it was less of a question, more of a command. Morty took the items without complaining while the dark man returned his attention to the pot. He'd never really handled can openers at home, much less hunting knives, but he swallowed his complainants and stabbed the top, working the blade around the can in a circle and prying the lid off. Inside were kidney beans. Or were they red beans? Something like that.

Morty handed the knife and the can back to the dark man, who in turn eyed Summer by the door. "Is your sister going to join us for dinner?" even his simple questions felt more like an interrogation.

"She's a…" Morty gripped his elbows. He figured Summer probably wasn't going to be pleased that he was putting words in her mouth. "S-she's a little nervous, that's a-all."

Summer snorted, her wariness at last melting down to irritation. At least it was something more Summer-esque.

The dark man raised an eyebrow. "She has no need to be," he spoke somewhat solemnly. "We are only cooking dinner."

"Yeah, because I'm gonna eat dinner with a guy that tried to strangle me a half hour ago," Summer snapped. "We don't even know your freaking name yet you're trying to pretend you're our friend after you nearly got me and my brother killed."

"I am no one's friend," the dark man replied, not sounding at all deterred. "And names are pointless. There are times and places. Believe me."

"Well, how do you expect us to believe you if we don't know who we're dealing with?" Summer disputed.

The dark man opened his mouth again but closed it after a second thought. "Weisenhurt," he spoke without looking up. He had a voice like gravel, weathered from age and experience. "Amos Weisenhurt. Commanding officer of the 501st platoon in Vietnam. General of the Exanthorp army in the galactic rebellion."

"Exanthorp army? Galactic rebellion?" Summer echoed in disbelief, still in her safe spot at the door. "The hell does any of that mean?"

"It _means_ that I've fought in two wars you couldn't comprehend and two shitheads like you ought to show a little goddamn respect," Weisenhurt's voice had gone dangerously low. "I would have thought Sanchez would whip some manners into his grandchildren, but clearly I was raising my hopes too high if I assumed that bastard could come to terms with a concept like humbleness."

Morty found himself slightly wincing. There were more than a few times that he would probably say the same thing about Rick, just as bitterly, just as angrily.

Weisenhurt looked up from his progress with their meal and glared at Summer. In the firelight, Morty caught a clear glimpse of his face and was shocked by how old he appeared to be. Well, he did say he fought in Vietnam, and that was the sixties, right? His dark hair was lined with streaks of gray and his beard was salted in the same manner. The scar on the right side of his face did nothing to mask the obvious wrinkles. He wasn't nearly as old as Rick, but he was getting there.

"You go talking about things you know nothing about," Weisenhurt finished with that, eyes smoldering with dying fury, "so I suggest biting your tongue before you say something you'll really end up regretting."

In an instant, Summer's mouth was opening and something barbed was sure to come with it, so Morty was forced to throw her a warning look across the room. In return, she looked incredulous, like her pride had been wounded, but it was fortunately enough to keep her silent.

From his cabinet, Weisenhurt pulled out a large bottle with amber liquid sloshing up and down. The sharp smell of whiskey, familiar and heavy and sour all at the same time, slammed Morty like a nostalgic train wreck. Instead of downing it, Weisenhurt merely poured a bit into the pot and gave it a stir. "It helps with the taste," he explained.

Morty quirked an eyebrow. Weisenhurt caught it.

"Your grandfather left a stash here."

A harmonious grunt of mutual understanding came from Morty and Summer.

Weisenhurt gave the pot one last stir and reached for another cabinet. "So, Sanchez is in prison, hm?" he repeated, drawing out three bowls and a few sets of silverware. "Seems odd that he can't get out on his own."

"I-It's not prison h-here," Morty informed him, "it's off planet. A Fed-Federation prison."

The older man's attention seemed to be snagged at that. "Oh, so it's the Feds that finally nabbed him?" the way he spoke implied some sort of hidden memories, repressed or not Morty was unsure. "Well, I hate to say it, but I'm impressed Sanchez managed to elude them for this long. Been gone a long time, sure, but you'd think that he'd figure out a way to hide himself for a while."

Morty clenched his fists and dug his nails into his palms, welcoming the stinging sensations. Weisenhurt didn't notice, passing him a bowl of bean slop and a spoon. Slightly dizzy, Morty sunk into an armchair and cupped the bowl with two hands, letting the warmth spread to his fingers.

"Not really sure why you kids are here with that holotape if Sanchez has been off planet for so long," Weisenhurt commented a bit off-handily, now passing dinner to a still cagey Summer. "If it's help your looking for, you certainly aren't going to find it from me."

"We saw it and thought that we'd come here for a nice relaxing vacation," Summer's voice sliced through the air as she shoved a spoonful of beans into her mouth.

"What s-she's saying is that w-we hadn't seen R-Rick in seven months a-"

Weisenhurt held up his hand and Morty's words halted before they could be spoken. "Hold on," he ordered, a fresh wave of annoyance crossing his features. "Sanchez was back on Earth? For how long?"

"Tw-two years-ish? He just ki-kinda…showed u-up on our doorstep one d-day."

And, in keeping the theme of unexpected reactions, Weisenhurt began to chuckle to himself.

"Two years?" he confirmed, sounding both exasperated and impressed. "Sanchez couldn't stay in his own damn house for three weeks before he'd get kicked out and you're saying that he's been back on-planet for two years? Now _that_ would be the story of the year."

"Look," Summer pointed her spoon at the older man. "We're not interested in your history with our grandpa. We just want to see if we'd find anything here that can help us. So do you know if there's anything like that that can get us off planet so we can go find our stupid grandfather?"

Weisenhurt's smile fell away from his face, the laugher now almost like a distant memory as his face slunk once more back into a firm resolution. "Your grandfather didn't say anything about me or the others, did he?"

Summer and Morty exchanged a glance.

"Nothing? Nothing about the rebellion or Exanthorp or… _anything_ else?" Weisenhurt's voice had a strain to it, an aging frustration that had soured like wine.

Morty and Summer shook their heads. Weisenhurt turned his head back to the fire, lost in contemplation. In the absence of words, Morty took a bite from his dinner, letting the warmth seep down his throat as he tried to make himself more comfortable in his armchair. Outside, the winds threw themselves at the walls and made the cabin shudder under it's strength.

"Goddamnit, Sanchez," Weisenhurt spoke unexpectedly, jolting Morty and Summer awake. His voice dropped to a whisper, but Morty could still catch a few snippets. "Fucking…two fucking kids…your ass arrested…tell them anything…?"

The older man straightened himself up after a while. "Well, since your sorry sod of a grandfather didn't tell you…" he sighed bitterly, "I met Sanchez after the war." Weisenhurt's eyes were narrowed, the effort of digging up long forgotten memories clearly taking it's toll. "I was twenty-five, out of a job and down on my luck just as the decade turned. Your grandfather bought me a drink and gave me the vaguest job explanation I had ever heard. The way that he described it was that he needed muscle to protect him on a routine business trip. It didn't seem like it was too much trouble, so I agreed and offered my services. When I was transported to a distant planet, I realized two things. One; Sanchez was insane. Two; I was in over my head."

"I-I know the f-feeling," Morty murmured between bites. Summer sighed in agreement.

Weisenhurt ignored them, lost in contemplation. "Sanchez ran guns for a small group of galactic rebels that were stationed at the furthest reaches of, what, the galaxy? The universe? Well, after I got over the initial shock of learning that aliens were real, it didn't turn out to be that bad of a situation. Your grandfather built weapons, I watched his back, and we'd go and get drinks afterwards, week in and week out like clockwork. And that lasted for ten years, or something like that."

"Ten years?" Summer confirmed through a mouthful of beans.

The general chuckled softly. "Yeah, amazing right? I couldn't believe that Sanchez and I could last so long doing something so…illegal, I guess. We weren't doing anything wrong by Earth standards, but the Galactic Federation had us on their lists from the moment we sold that first pistol. Every single time we'd get back, your grandfather would get so plastered as a reward for himself that I'd have to carry him home army style more than I'd care to admit. Probably more than he'd admit as well. Met the Missus, your mom too."

Morty blinked. "You met our mom?"

"Little Bethie? She was probably eight or nine last time I saw her. Cutest thing I'd ever laid my eyes on. It was hard to believe that Sanchez could produce a little girl as adorable as her. Can't believe she's all grown up."

Morty swept the sides of the bowl with his spoon, trying to get all the remaining food off. "And then what happened?" he prodded.

Weisenhurt's eyes abruptly grew dark, and his face lost some of it's lift, sagging once more with untold burden. "It was the March of nineteen ninety-three. Sanchez came into my apartment, the soberest I'd ever seen him, so I knew that it was serious. Said that he was running a few more rifles and that this time he wasn't coming back. He never told me why—he just told me that he couldn't. He asked me…he asked me to come with him. I accepted; without your grandfather's income, there wasn't much left for me. We went to a planet called Exanthorp and never looked back. The rebels took us in and we became rebels ourselves. Now, don't get me wrong, Sanchez wasn't much of a government guy, that much was true, but I'd never imagine him fighting for a cause like we did. But something must've really got under his skin that night. Still keeps me up from time to time; just wondering what we did, why we did it, and what all of it was for."

Summer leaned forward, meal abandoned to the side. "So if you were off-planet, why'd you come back?"

"Because I asked your grandfather. We stayed with the rebels for ten years, or at least I did. Sanchez was going to explore the galaxy on his own, perfect his inventions and whatnot, but I was sick of space. Over those years, I rose through the ranks of the rebellion to become a general of the armies stationed on Exanthorp and Sanchez was their leading scientist. Your grandfather was the best scientist, inventor, and gun runner the galactic rebellion had ever seen. It was unprecedented, what that man could do," Weisenhurt's voice was spiked with a sort of grudging admittance. "Sanchez could make a robot with one hand and shoot a Gromflomite through the eye from a hundred yards away with the other. But it can only do so much. Our forces kept getting wiped out. If it wasn't our men, it was those stationed on Lemitong-2, or a few running missions in the Whilomion system. The Federation's nothing if not efficient. Smarter and better armed than we'd ever hope to be. Our numbers were going down fast so we all agreed to disperse for a while, keep a few pockets of groups around the galaxy until we could take up arms again. Now, Sanchez wanted to see just how far the universe could go, so there was no way he was coming back to Earth. He took me to one of our old gun running stations," Weisenhurt patted the ground next to him, "and left me there. And I've been living here ever since."

Morty and Summer were at a loss for words, each waiting for the other to speak. "It's been twelve years?" Summer's voice was miniscule as she at last found her voice.

"Something like that. I'd go into town and resupply every few months, avoid the locals, try to defend the area. It was all good until the Federation ships started flying through the Rockies, and I knew that Earth was finally surrendering. I've been holed up for the last seven months trying to wait it all out."

With guilt clawing at his gut, Morty set aside his bowl, unsure if his appetite was sustained or gone entirely. Summer had finally joined them and was sitting on the arm of Morty's chair, picking at her fingers. "We didn't know…" she hesitated, testing her words before she spoke them. "Grandpa was always so…so…private."

Weisenhurt snorted. "Sanchez always was a bit of a recluse," he admitted, "but he's not stupid. I'd have thought he'd told you two. This information shouldn't have to come from me, it should have come from him."

"He m-mentioned something here a-and there," Morty recalled, thinking back. When he thought long and hard about it, maybe there were some hints dropped. Hints that were too obscure or too passing or both. A sentence that vanished in the instant. When aliens are shooting at you, it's hard to get things straight in the heat of the moment.

Far from the madness of it all, and they were being shoved back in the thick of things once more. "Well, wh-what should we do?" Morty dared to ask.

The fire crackled in response. Weisenhurt stared into the flames, brow furrowed. "I'm not sure," he answered him finally. "There isn't much else you can do if Sanchez is in prison. Those holotapes are twenty years old; the fact that one led you here means nothing in this kind of situation." His fingers clutched at the carpet, the soot staining his palms. "We always made plans for what would happen if we were caught. But prison was one that we'd never really solved. The Federation doesn't…they keep their prisons classified."

"What for?" Summer piped up from her seat.

"Fear tactics. Classic war strategy. What are humans, aliens, anything, scared of no matter what?" When Morty and Summer didn't answer, Weisenhurt continued. "The unknown. The folks who did go to prison, they'd never come back. The Feds aren't very kind to intergalactic terrorists and rebels like what your grandfather and I were. All the secrets of prison are just those—secrets. All we knew was that we didn't want to wind up there, because those who did…well, it wasn't like we had a lot to go off of."

Morty felt his despair beginning to well back up, the same despair he felt when Rick's lab was raided. The same helplessness, a feeling that made him feel so tiny and insignificant that no matter what he did, none of it would make a difference. Jesus, how did he become so cynical? "So y-you can't help us?"

Summer gave him another look of defeat, her face deflated and her blind confidence that had filled her only a few days ago all but gone.

"I never said that."

Both sibling's attention snapped back to the general. He had a begrudging look on his face now, but there was a new life to it too. "It will be difficult—the Federation has a lot of influence over a lot of planets, and it's probably only gotten worse over the years—but it's not impossible. For starters, let's worry about getting off planet. That will be our first step."

Morty opened his mouth but his words were shoved aside by a yawn. He rubbed his eyes, noticing how heavy his feet seemed and how tense his arms and legs had become. How long had they been sitting like that? The cold bowl next to Morty told him that it was much longer than he'd probably first thought.

"But we should figure that out in the morning," the general theorized, a look of mild concern making his wrinkles a touch more prominent. "Some rest seems to be in order."

Oh God, the prospect of sleep sounded like the sweetest thing he'd heard all day. The weight of the days events were suddenly crashing down on Morty's shoulders like an avalanche. Another yawn from his left told him that his sister was feeling the same.

"Get some sleep in the other room," Weisenhurt turned back to the fire, shadows consuming his back as they were driven aside by the light of the fires. "You two look like you've had a long day. We'll figure out what to do about Sanchez in the morning."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things are inevitable, but the next chapter will have a bit more progression. 
> 
> And sorry for a bit of a lackluster ending, but I was fighting some major writers block this chapter and now that break's ending, I might not be able to update regularly. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I have the next chapter a fourth written and one other important chapter more than halfway done, so there is progress and I definitely have more ideas to share. Just a bit of an update.
> 
> Thanks for reading and please review if you enjoyed!


	7. Red Pill, Blue Pill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I've been spending my time rushing and playing a little game called Pocket Mortys to keep myself busy for the past few weeks. So much fuckin fun, man. Go download it (hey Roiland I'm giving you free press enjoy it man.) 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!

In spite of how bone tired he was, Morty hardly slept that night.

Summer passed out on the sleeping bag next to him within a matter of minutes, but Morty's mind was racing too fast to do the same. His brain whirled like the blizzards outside with all the newfound information that Weisenhurt had given to them. Turning the facts over, trying to focus on each and every angle until his head hurt from the effort. Quotes from Rick chimed through his head, the words blatant now that he knew the whole truth of the meaning behind them.

" _I can't abide bureaucracy. I don't like being told where to go and what to do. I consider it a violation."_

" _As you know, Morty, I've got a lot of enemies in the universe that consider my genius a threat. Galactic terrorists, a few sub-galactic dictators, most of the entire intergalactic government."_

" _Look, I don't have time to tell you my entire backstory, but Grandpa and government don't get along."_

How could he have been so stupid?

Morty tossed and turned in his sleeping bag, shivering. The back room adjacent to the room with the fireplace was stone cold and pitch black. Every window was boarded up and locked up the raw weather, giving it the feel of a freezer. Weisenhurt had pushed some boxes and crates and trash out of the way to make room for two sleeping bags and then left them to their own devices. Morty had been ready for a conversation with his sister, almost longing for it, but upon turning to her discovered that she had passed out. Now Summer dozed peacefully next to her brother, curled up tight and giving no indication that she was feeling the creeping chills. For Morty, however, the frozen atmosphere kept shaking him awake and dragging him back to consciousness. Too many nagging thoughts to sleep, too many questions and too little answers.

Rick, a rebel? He was barely willing to stick his own neck out for his own grandchildren and somehow he found it in himself to aid a cause? Weisenhurt gave the impression like hardly believed it himself so Morty couldn't possibly find it in him to process it. He briefly wondered if Beth knew about it, but the thought left his mind almost as soon as it entered. Of course she wouldn't. His mother wasn't stupid; if her father had told her that he was going off to go fight the intergalactic government, she would have gotten it. That animosity came from the lack of answers, not the lack of understanding, and if there was one thing Rick was good at, it was withholding information.

Still, just the idea that Rick would be willing to leave everything behind was a thought that still left Morty reeling. Was it selflessness or cowardice? Duty or fear? Some things were never going to be answered, and in retrospect, maybe that was for the best. Morty didn't even want to think of all the skeletons that Rick kept in his closets. There were places of his grandfather's that even he dared not to tread.

As he lay there reflecting, there came a point in the night that Morty knew that sleep was never going to come to him. Defeated, he picked himself up and crept out of the back room, leaving Summer to her dreams. Slinking around the various debris of the room, he made his way to the door and slipped through it.

The living room still had some lingering heat in it despite the fire having burned down to ashes. Half-eaten bowls of their dinner sat abandoned on the armchairs. Soft gray light struggled to slip under the cracks that were left in the boarded up windows, and watery shadows danced on the floor of the cabin. The wind still blew outside, but not too hard. Almost like a whistle instead of a howl now. It was peaceful, in a way. Tranquility was such a foreign concept at this point that Morty almost forgot what it felt like to have a moment of peace.

"Can't sleep?"

Morty jumped at the voice, spinning around suddenly. Weisenhurt sat against the back wall, wrapped in shadows once more. A flashlight sat at his feet while he fiddled with some contraptions. Other half assembled parts littered the space around him. The general's voice was dull and wilting from fatigue. He didn't seem to be paying much attention, however, because his gaze was set on the darkened scenes outside.

Morty felt the heat creeping up his neck. "No," he admitted.

Weisenhurt let out a grunt of what Morty supposed was understanding. "It's natural to be wary and fearful after what I've told you," even his attempts at sympathy seemed weathered and burned out. A tired mantra of threadbare comforts. "To be completely honest, I was at first surprised that you and your sister took it so well."

"At f-first?" Morty repeated.

"Yes, at first." Weisenhurt motioned to the space before him as an offering to sit. Morty approached the general and dropped to his knees. As he did so, the older man dropped one contraption and picked up another. "But it's clear that Sanchez has done his work with you two. I've been impressed."

Morty, in his bleary state, found himself repeating Weisenhurt's words like a confused cockatiel. "His work?"

Weisenhurt looked Morty dead in the eye, his gaze completely serious. "Do you recall how I had pinned your sister down? My hands were closed around her throat yet she still fought fiercely and managed to save herself until you arrived to assist her. And you have fast reflexes and are quick on your feet, not to mention braver than most even older than yourself. A normal person would have been smashed against that tree, but you managed to outmaneuver me. And that thing with the snow? Interesting strategy. Quite a duo, you two. No small wonder Sanchez takes you with him as often as you say. He would be proud to have you as his grandchildren."

Morty blinked, surprise and gratitude spreading through him suddenly.

Weisenhurt picked up another contraption and started toying with two together, arranging them like he was trying to fit pieces in a puzzle. "Your sister has a bit of a mouth on her, doesn't she?"

Morty shrugged. "She's just t-tired, I guess," came the excuse.

"No, I don't mind it. She reminds me of Sanchez, that's all," the general held up a now pieced together contraption and picked up a screwdriver. "He'd always be quick with a debate that could make even the most inflexible clients back down. It's part of the reason he was such a good gunrunner. Always knew which price to drive up and which folks to do it with."

Morty let out an awkward laugh. "Yeah, yeah, I-I know, right? He'd always…h-he'd once tried to get me d-do a deal for him. T-the alien n-near…she nearly took my arm off wi-with the blaster pistol. R-Rick told me to suck i-it up and that I w-was lucky she didn't have eyes, o-or else I'd be an…you know, an arm s-short."

They both had a good chuckle at that. When he smiled, the creases around Weisenhurt's lips grew a bit and his scar danced with the movement of his jaws. It made him seem more alive somehow. Far different from the shadow of a man that had attacked Morty and Summer in the forest not even twelve hours ago.

"What else was R-Rick like?" Morty found the words slipping out of him before he could think better of it, but he couldn't help himself. Curiosity was scraping at his gut and he was dying to know. Weisenhurt dropped his work and stared off into the distance.

"Drunk. Angry. Unreliable," were the words that the older man settled on after some time. "Crazy. Insufferable. But he was also resourceful, intelligent, capable, strong-willed, and pretty damn loyal. Sanchez was a lot of things, kid, but don't take them from me. You've gotta make your own opinions of him. It's been years since I've seen your grandfather, but I don't know. Maybe deep down in that old crusty heart of his, he found it in him to change his ways."

Morty didn't have the courage to tell Weisenhurt that Rick was still pretty much all those things he'd just described, so he just nodded and reverted his gaze back to the general's handiwork. Weisenhurt was now attaching some sort of handle to his contraption. In the faint light, it looked oddly like a gun. Hell, given what he knew, Morty was willing to bet his life on it.

Distracted, Morty let his eyes wander until they fell upon a small stereo by the door. Scattered CD cases were thrown around, a few opened. The melody was calm and soothing, almost like a lullaby. Morty could count at least two guitars strumming in harmony, and a few seconds later a piano joined the mix. A soft clang of cymbals came in after a few bars. It all melded together nicely, and something warm stirred in his chest. Almost like a wistfulness, a homesickness, even if it was for something he'd never experienced before.

_Make myself a bed, by the waterside._

"You like that?" Wesienhurt's voice nearly snapped him out of it. Nearly. Morty said nothing and nodded.

He heard the general's amused snort. "It's Brokedown Palace by The Grateful Dead. California, December thirtieth, nineteen seventy-nine, Oakland Auditorium. Only time I saw them live. It's a good version. I've always preferred the studio version myself, though."

_In my time, in my time,_

"Is it Rick's?" Morty asked.

"Nah, Sanchez was much more into the classics than I was. I'd play these and he'd shut the radio off and tell me to stop fucking around. Then he'd throw on The Kinks or Bowie and we'd _really_ go at it."

_I will roll, roll, roll._

"So," Morty clumsily kept the conversation afloat while Weisenhurt picked up some sort of wire from the floor and started threading it through the inside of the gun. "What are we going to do now?"

Weisenhurt gave him a crooked smile as he routed the last wire. "Well kid, there are a few possibilities I've been exercising," he began as he held the gun up. The sides lit up purple and buzzed with energy. "What can get us off this planet in the fastest, cleanest, and most straightforward way? But we need to understand that the Federation often underestimates their own enemies. They think that they're above all other beings in the universe, and in some cases they are. But there are always outliers in the equation."

Something in Morty's mind clicked in that moment. "So if we do so-something they aren't expecting, they won't know how to fight us?"

"Precisely. Humans are so low on their concern list that the idea of three of them getting off-planet not only never crosses their mind, but they would hardly care either way. Now listen, the Federation puts a lot of safety measures around their planets in order to ensure that their inhabitants stay in line. I've seen it happen more than I care to admit. You've might've seen it too. They've probably already put up their satellites."

Yeah, they had. It was something Morty had noted when he and his family were returning from the wedding. Several pieces of machinery that certainly weren't for HBO or Facebook floated several miles out of the range of all of Earth's normal satellites. He'd seen most of Earth's satellites, damn near hit a few when Rick was teaching him how to drive. Hard to forget Sirius Radio when you almost clip the panels off of it. These ones were different—green and red and huge, forming a loose ring around their world.

"The Federation runs a very tight vehicle registration," Weisenhurt explained as put down his gun. "All vehicles that can go faster than one thousand light years an hour need to be registered under the Federation's laws or else they'll get shot out of the sky immediately. Those satellites around the planet are designed to identify the vehicle and allow it to pass. Otherwise, it would get zapped with an army's worth of firepower and fall back to the home planet as a smoldering ball of metal. Nothing gets out, and nothing gets in either."

Instantly, Morty's mind jumped to his grandfather's flying space car. That certainly didn't go through any sort of registration. No small wonder the Federation always shot at them whenever they got within their ranges. "So what do we d-do?" he asked.

Weisenhurt gave him a crooked smile of sorts and picked himself up off the floor. "The Federation's ships are all registered, of course," he informed Morty, heading for the table in the back. "So the answer's simple. Have you ever hijacked a spaceship, kid?"

Morty shook his head.

The general chuckled "Good time to learn, then." Passing the map to Morty, he pointed to a spot directly north of the marked cabin. "Now, when the Federation ships entered Earth's atmosphere, they flew low over the mountains here and headed due west," his finger moved across the paper, "and disappeared right over here past that peak. They were flying at an altitude that signaled landing, which means that there should be a base over the hills with a number of ships ready to be taken. At my best estimate, it would probably be a ten-mile hike, but we can make that in a few hours if we hurry. We grab a spaceship, hot wire it, and then we get off of Earth and the universe is open to us."

Staring at the map, Morty felt a rush of excitement. "It's that easy?"

"'Easy' might be a bit of an understatement," a soft snort came from the general, "but yes, so long as you and your sister are on guard, it shouldn't promise to be too difficult. Speaking of which, you should go wake her. If we want to start this, then it's best to do it when they'd least be expecting us."

Morty was already on his feet, hurrying over to the back door. He located Summer fairly quickly in the dark, and when he approached her, she stirred slightly from the commotion.

"Summer. S-Summer, wake up."

She groaned. "Morty? It's like, not even dawn. Let me sleep." Came her answer, rushing to adjust her phone's brightness in the pitch black.

"I c-can't. We're gonna l-leave. We-we've got a plan t-to go find R-Rick."

In an instant, Summer shot up. She was wide awake now, a smile growing on her face. "We're getting off-planet?" she asked, excitement making her eyes sparkle. Morty nodded.

Summer shook her feet out of the sleeping bag and made to stand while Morty reached the back door again. He returned to Weisenhurt, his sister on his heels, but something was off.

The general had moved from his position on the wall and was peering through the cracks in the boarded up windows. The pistol was clutched tightly in his hand, cocked like it was ready for use already. When the two siblings approached him, he hardly acknowledged their presence. "Something's not right," he hissed as Morty pressed his face against the wall to look for himself.

At first, Morty couldn't find anything wrong with the situation. The streaming lights over the hills were signaling dawn's approach, making the fresh snow glow a pale pink. The winter landscape was silent, almost like something had pressed a pillow over his ears and muted the sound. A flock of birds were flying this way, black against the pastel horizon. As far as Morty could tell, nothing was out of place.

But now there was a low hum over their surrounds, deep and grinding and mechanical. As the flock of birds approached, the humming grew louder, until it was almost earsplitting. But those birds…weren't birds. Ships, three of them, were approaching their refuge and starting to descend.

"M-maybe they won't land," Summer hoped, a fearless stab at bringing optimism to the situation.

Three forked Federation ships landed on the main road about several yards outside of the cabin, the jets brushing snow out of the way of their landing gear. A few Gromflomites jumped out, fully armed with armor and laser rifles, packed down right to the wing. They milled around for a few seconds as one of them pulled out a small box and pressed a button.

"Get down," Weisenhurt's hands pushed Morty down onto the ground, leaving him alone at the window. His hiss was barely registered by Morty, and a moment later he was joined on the floor by a now upset looking Summer.

From Weisenhurt's increasingly panicked and grave expressions, Morty could tell that the Gromflomites outside weren't leaving. He could hear voices outside, orders perhaps. The sounds of feet coming up the road. The cocking of a gun…

"Kid!" Weisenhurt's voice slashed through Morty's fears. "The cabinet!"

They didn't need to be told twice. Morty and Summer scrambled on all fours to the first cabinet next to the fireplace and threw it open. Several guns lay on the ground, pistols incredibly similar to the one the general had crafted not too long ago. He passed one to Summer and grabbed another for himself. Morty clicked the safety and the wires and barrel hummed with life. The sides of his gun lit up green. Summer's lit up blue. Weisenhurt leveled his purple pistol and backed away from the window.

"T-T-this is insane!" Morty stammered as he gripped the gun hard. "What if t-they don't shoot?"

His answer came in the form of a red laser bursting right through the old door. Summer yelped and ducked down just to narrowly avoid the shot taking her head off. A perfect hole had been blasted clean through the wood, smoke curling upwards. Weisenhurt gave him a pointed look and turned his attention back to the window.

"They're about fifteen of them," he grunted. "Can you two handle those guns?"

"No!" Morty and Summer exclaimed at the same time.

Another shot came through the window this time, nearly nailing Weisenhurt in the shoulder. Splinters flew in all directions as the wood exploded off the windows and dawn streamed through. More shots came through the door, chipping holes into it until Morty could see the bright red compound eyes of the leading Gromflomite. Morty locked eyes with it, and his hand tightened around the pistol.

Then a blue laser nailed it through the eye, and it went down screaming. Blue blood gushed from it's eviscerated face and splattered the inside of the house, probably the door too. Gromflomites were shouting outside and the red lasers started coming with increased ferocity.

Summer was on her feet now, dragging her brother up in the process. By now, the door was almost halfway gone and another Gromflomite was attempting to wiggle its way into the house. Taking careful aim, Morty fired and a green laser found the mark, and the Gromflomite spent the last seconds of it's life choking on it's own blood before collapsing onto the ground.

Shards of wood were flying, the door shattered, and the onslaught was on.

Morty and Summer pressed up back to back as the aliens swarmed them, twisting and turning and firing in every direction possible. Weisenhurt held his ground in his own corner, handling two or three Gromflomites at a time. A swift punch to the throat for one, a quick laser to the temple for the second, and several punches before finishing yet another alien off execution style. He didn't look like he needed any help.

"Over your shoulder!" Summer called out. Morty spun on his heel and put a shot right into the Gromflomite's stomach, narrowly avoiding its own fire as it sailed over his left side. Another Gromflomite was stepping up to take its place as Morty turned again. "On your r-right!" he shouted before dispatching another soldier with a laser to it's kneecap. The flash of blue out of the corner of his eye, and the scream that followed, told him all he needed to know.

"Just like fighting parasites, huh?" Summer's tone was focused, but somehow slightly lighthearted. Morty only shrugged into her back, firing one more quick shot at a Gromflomite that was making it through through the door.

But when he turned around once more, following their erratic dance, a heavy fist caught him in the side of the face and Morty was suddenly falling backwards. Summer's voice registered in his mind, but it was sounding further and further away from him. In that instant, Morty was flying onto the floor, his gun spinning away from him. Before he could even get a chance to catch his breath, the barrel of the gun was shoved right under his nose. However, instead of pulling the trigger, the Gromflomite looked up for it's comrades and waved its tiny black box. "I've got him!" it shouted over the dying commotion.

_What the fuck?_

And Morty was sure he would've spent the last moments of his life debating that statement, if not for Summer being a good shot.

Blood exploded from the Gromflomites head in the burst of light blue and dark blue, showering the walls next to Morty. The headless body now rolled off of him, toppling away. Morty shrieked and scrambled backwards on all fours, running directly into the shins of Weisenhurt in his haste. Glancing up, Morty managed to see the general blast the last Gromflomite in the room through the eye, and it fell dead with a scream.

"Morty! Morty!" Someone was calling his name.

Summer was at his side, shaking him, smoking pistol still in her hand. She was hysterical, screaming at him at the top of her lungs if he was alright, but Morty wasn't paying attention anymore. The side of his head was throbbing, each passing second sending more waves of pain through his skull. Morty looked at Summer for a moment, dazed, until his eyes strayed from her and swept around the room.

If a tornado had blown through the cabin, it would have created less of a mess. The doors and windows had been half blasted off their hinges. Blue blood splattered the walls and floors like a horrible abstract paint job. Specks of weak sunlight streamed through the ceiling where stray fire had poked holes in the roof. Dead Gromflomites littered the floor, most with missing body parts. The walls were scorched, the furniture blasted, and the fireplace crumbling. Some wayward shot had put a hole right through the stereo, causing smoke to pour out of it. It made feeble noises, static murmurs in an effort to make another sound, but the music was completely gone and an eerie silence once more pressed over Morty's ears.

Weisenhurt, meanwhile, had approached the Gromflomite that had nearly taken Morty's life and pried the black box out of it's pincer. It dripped blood, and something inside of it rattled when Weisenhurt shook it. The thing come to life in the older man's hand with a series of bleeps.

A turn of the knob here. A flip of a switch there. A twist of the antenna and a tap of the screen together. Morty couldn't tear his eyes away from Weisenhurt as he toyed with it. Watching his expression crunch up, then darken, then stiffen. For a heartbeat, his eyes darted back to Morty and Summer, still lying on the ground.

When the general finally spoke up again, his voice was curt. "Morty, I need you to go into the back room for me. Don't ask questions. Now."

A hundred questions filled Morty's mind but with the way that Weisenhurt was talking, he knew better than to speak them aloud. With Summer's help, he got to his feet and stumbled for the door, still slightly woozy. His sister's fingers had been gripped around his bicep but as he reached the back door they suddenly weren't. A small protest filled his ears but it was quickly silenced as Morty slipped back into the back room and shut the door behind him.

He wanted to take another step, to collapse on his makeshift bad and sleep for a hundred years or longer, but Morty settled for curling up against the door and hugging his knees. His stomach wrung itself out inside of him, and his heart thrummed against his legs as he drew them closer to his chest.

_It's just a fight. It's just a fight. Calm down. Calm down. Calm…down._

The only thing he could hear was the steady beeping of the black box from outside. His sister asked something only to be hushed by Weisenhurt. And then, without warning, there was the sound of something shattering and a bellowed " _Fuck!"_

Immediately, Morty scrambled up and fumbled for the doorknob. Returning back into the living room revealed Weisenhurt slamming the black box into the hardwood. A moment later, his heel came down and finished the job, shattering the thing under the force of an iron heel.

Morty winced in the doorframe. "What ha-?"

Weisenhurt whipped an accusing finger at him and then at Summer, who had backed up to the ruined fireplace. "You didn't tell me they could track you!" he snarled, twisting his boot on the ruined box.

Morty shook his head. "I-I d-don't know wh-what y-you're t-t-talking about."

"Then _why_ ," Weisenhurt pointed to the ruins of the black box, "were they following your fucking brainwaves with that goddamn tracker?"

Ice shot up Morty's spine.

"T-they can't be!" he stammered. "They o-only, I-I mean…I-I t-thought they c-could only track R-Rick's… "

His words died on his mouth as Weisenhurt's expression contorted into a fresh blend of rage and panic. "They were still tracking Sanchez's brainwaves!? Well, then no fucking wonder the asshole came back! Kid, your waves are off their fucking charts; finding you would be like searching for a grain of sand in the desert! Of course they found us so easily. I'm amazed it wasn't faster!"

"Will someone please tell me what's going on!?" Summer yelled from her corner of the room.

Both men ignored her. "B-b-but R-Rick could…," as Morty spoke his point, each new argument began to sputter. He suddenly realized Weisenhurt's terror, his fear. "I-I was m-meant t-t-to hid h-him."

"Large brainwaves can only completely hide with inverses equal in size!" the general fumed. "Do you realize how easy it is to flip a switch, recalibrate a tracker, and find out wherever you are, kid!? You need to…you need to…oh _fuck_ ," and with that, Weisenhurt turned away and stomped in the direction of the back room.

Understanding was speedily spreading through Morty, and it took all his willpower not to break down. "W-what about t-t-the ships!?" he offered.

"Too slow! Those ships are too damn slow to outrun the entire Federation, kid, don't you get that!?" Weisenhurt snapped, disappearing into the back room and grumbling curses under his breath.

Summer's eyebrows were knit tight, apprehension making her body tight. "What was that?" she managed weakly.

Morty held his silence, too stunned to answer her. Summer cast him another worried glance but if she truly wanted her answers, she didn't have the courage to ask again. A futile look towards the broken door was the only other sign of her terror, and Morty clung to her composure

A few minutes later, Weisenhurt reappeared with a duffel bag and what looked like a very old TV remote. There were odd wires and buttons on the thing, and where there were supposed to be batteries, something was glowing green under a heaping pile of duct tape. Weisenhurt tossed the duffel bag to Morty, who caught it but very nearly fell to the floor, caught off guard by it's heaviness.

"Grab two of those rifles from outside," the old man grunted as he toyed with the TV remote. "They might be cheap, but a cheap weapon is better than none at all."

Summer and Morty exchanged a concerned glance but she nevertheless did as Weisenhurt commanded. She went outside, reappearing a few moments later with two rifles clutched in her hands. Morty opened the duffel bag, only to see that it was stuffed with bean cans.

"Wh-what's going on?" Morty stammered as Summer attempted to cram the rifles into the bag.

"The Federation is what's going on," Weisenhurt grumbled. "Now that they have a way to track you, you two can't stay here. You need to leave and go save your grandfather before they have the chance to catch you."

"That's insane!" Summer protested, finally squeezing the rifles into the duffel bag and zipping them shut. "Where are we going to hide?"

Weisenhurt didn't take his eyes off the TV remote, now holding it in some sort of triumph. "Out of the way of Federation jurisdiction, of course," he replied. "Some planets around the galaxy have managed to avoid falling into the Federation's web, be it they're too small, too primitive, or too barren. Some of those who want to fight have taken shelter on these planets. There aren't a lot of them, but there should be enough to allow you to hide out for a bit. Sanchez and I had friends there; if you find them, they should help you, given you're mindful of what you say."

Morty and Summer exchanged a frightened glance. "What…h-how are we going to get there?" Morty tried to keep the panic out of his voice. But it didn't look like Weisenhurt was listening anymore.

The general stood up, pointed the TV remote at the wall, and pressed what looked like the power button. The reaction was almost instant. A bright green, all too familiar portal had appeared on the wall next to them. It was a sight for sore eyes, and Morty had to bite his lip to stop himself from shouting out in amazement.

Weisenhurt, in the meantime, had tossed the remote to Summer. "That's your grandfather's portal gun prototype," he explained. "The thing runs on a stable thermo-nuclear core that will last until basically the end of time but can't be recharged. It probably has about four more shots on it, maximum. The planet where you're going is called FR-0284. It's way out of the Federation's range; you'll be safe there for a while. But you can't stay in one place, kid." These words were all for Morty. "Your sister being with you will dilute the signal your brain waves give off, thank God, but it won't stop them. They'll find you eventually, and you ought to be on the move before then."

"What about you?" Summer spoke up, trying to drag Morty to his feet. "Where will you go?"

There was a sort of doubt that flickered in his eyes, but it was so brief that Morty figured he must've imagined it. "I'll throw them off your trail. If I stay here, they'll try to catch me first. Much as I hate to admit it, you're not their only priority anymore."

Small comfort.

"We were when they came in and tried to murder us!" Summer retorted, echoing his thoughts as she finally hauled Morty up.

Weisenhurt disregarded her, yet his voice had risen to match hers in both dread and fury. "Go!" he barked, "before they bring their reinforcements!"

Summer looked offended, but it seemed to bring her back down to Earth. Her expression broke down, losing the anger until pure alarm was all that remained. She hurried to the portal and, after a moments hesitation, stepped through it. Morty lingered still, casting one more glance to the general. Weisenhurt was collecting his guns and casting furtive glances out the broken windows, cursing under his breath. One forearm bled heavily, and his right leg trembled like it was gong to buckle. Run, he said. He was going to run. But where? And how? Doubt blossomed through his mind. Morty paused one foot from the portal. "Bu-"

"I said _go_!"

There was a sound of combat boots on hardwood, but Morty didn't recognize or process it until it was too late. His last sensation was being roughly shoved from behind and losing his balance over the ruined floor of the cabin. And suddenly he was falling, falling and falling through swirling green mist, leaving his old world behind in a haze of blood and warfare.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And yeah the title was a shameless plug to The Matrix. Sue me, Warner Bros.
> 
> Thanks for reading and please review if you enjoyed!


	8. Frozen White Noise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks so much for your kind reviews! I really appreciate them!
> 
> So I've been enjoying writing this story so far and I'm glad to see that you guys like it too. This chapter was a bit of a drag because I wanted to get the dialogue just right but overall I loved making certain parts of it. Hope you enjoy!

The next sensation Morty felt was snow, a-fucking-gain. Cold wet powder cushioned his fall through the portal as he fell face first back into the world. It bit his face after a moment, the harsh chill sending his senses for a loop. The duffel bag on his back created a nice weight over his shoulders and pinned him to the ground. For a split, sweet heartbeat, it was almost enough to make him never want to move again.

"Morty?"

Summer's voice caused him to poke his head back up.

Her ginger hair was falling out of it's ponytail, so she was hastily retying it. Although it was hard to tell, her black coat bore the scorch marks from the heavy laser fire that they had endured only a few minutes prior. The handle of her blue pistol poked its way out of her pocket. She had a cut in her black pants just above the thigh, shallow enough that it wasn't bleeding too bad but deep enough that it had managed to stain her pants maroon. Her face was rubbed raw from her own stumble through the portal, already surpassing pink and moving to a nice light red. Summer's green eyes were aflame, a deep blaze of color that was just starting to die in the wake of what had happened.

Taking in a deep shuddering breath, Morty forced himself to get up. This time, it was he who felt unsteady, and Summer grabbed him to keep him from toppling back over. "W-where are we?" he managed after a moment of repose. "We aren't…we a-aren't still o-on…?"

The words faded from him mouth as Morty finally got a good look at the rest of his surroundings.

Opposite from the Rockies, which teemed with trees and mountains and other pieces of nature, the world that they'd landed on was deserted. It had the look and feel of a wasteland if it had been slammed with another Ice Age. Snow spread out from all sides, vast and unmarked. There wasn't any wind, any noise, or any fog, so the two of them could see for miles until the whiteness disappeared into the horizon. Despite the lack of gustiness, the frozen weather still was working it's way deep through Morty's coat and under his skin, making his bones feel brittle and fragile. The sky was just beginning to darken. Twilight, probably, or at least whatever counted as twilight on this planet. Overhead, a moon hung low in the sky. Another was starting its accent on their left, a pale stone rising to join its twin. Directly above them, another planet took up a large portion of the sky. He could make out swirls of red and green mist making up its atmosphere and the slowly rotating rings made of several thousand asteroids that must've been as big as cars. Between a planet and two moons making up the skyline, it was hard to make out much of anything else, but the stars shyly peeked out anyway in whatever gap they could find. As the sky transformed from pale yellow to deep indigo, they were starting to come out, one by one. Morty wondered if there were any stars he could see here that he could see from Earth as well. With that thought, the sheer distance suddenly crashed upon his shoulders, the gravity of the situation making him feel like the world's scrawniest Atlas **.**

Welcome to Off-Earth, day one. Jeez.

Besides him, Summer shivered and tugged the hood of her ski jacket over her face. "Let's get moving," she decided.

"Where?" Morty asked. They needed to go, that much was true—they'd freeze to death quickly without the warmth of a sun in sub-degree temperatures like this. But there was nothing that indicated any signs of life on the planet. What if the direction they walked to was to their death?

Summer seemed to realize this too. Morty caught her slight moment of indecision, the way her facial expressions loosened into a mystified look as she squinted at the blank horizon all around them. "We…" her words sagged with doubt. At last, she pointed in the direction on the rising moon to their left. "That way," she decided, "let's go west."

"What makes you think t-that way's w-west?" Morty found himself arguing, just for the sake of it.

Summer spared him a look, but her reply was laced with irritation. "I just know," she answered pointedly, moving in the decided direction like the stubborn teenager she was. And Morty hurried after her, not really eager to be left behind.

It was a slow trudge, a funeral march. The white expanse before them never changed. There were never any buildings that sprouted up in the distance or tiny specks of people conversing on the horizon or even any spaceships soaring over the sky. The snow was different too; it was less powdery and more hard, like ice. Thus, Morty and Summer skated over the surface more than they walked over it. Their process was only slowed further with each passing stumble the two of them took over the slippery surface. Morty especially, considering the duffel bag made him extremely top-heavy. The two siblings took turns shouldering it, walking side by side together through a never-ending white canvas. The distance stretched into miles, the time into hours. Soon, they were walking through the night, determinately following the illumination of the moon. Nothing changed. Morty fought down the growing (and now too familiar, considering all his endeavors over the past day alone) dread that was threatening to resurface inside him.

When night had finally overtaken them and the temperature had dropped to bitter levels, Morty was sure that this was the end. Each breath he took burned his lungs and throat, and he was sure that his blood had already frozen inside of him. Every inch of his body felt numb. He didn't dare look down at his fingers in fear of seeing if they'd turned blue. Each step expended more and more of his energy until he was positive that collapsing onto the ice would be easier than walking any further. His eyes lifted up a touch, half-lidded from the cold and exhaustion.

Something, just barely visible in the darkening environment, was poking through the ground. A shelter, perhaps?

"S-S-Summer," his teeth chattered violently, tugging at his sister's arm. Without waiting to hear her response, he hurried to the thing, legs sprawling in every direction in his haste.

Upon closer inspection, their shelter appeared to be a half buried spaceship of a design that Morty was unfamiliar with. It was difficult to make out most of the details of the outside by sight with it being so dark out, so Morty ran his hands along the top in an effort to find something he could use. From the touch, Morty could feel the aged chills leaching through his fingers and scrape at the rust running up and down the sides. A ship lost to the hands of time, just like all those cabins back on Earth. But he couldn't reflect on it for much longer, because Morty's hands ran along a cut in the metal. It was too smooth and too clean to be from age. Hope flared in his chest.

"D-d-do you h-have th-the f-f-flashlight?" Morty managed to get the words out.

After a moment's pause in which Summer unzipped the duffel and dug through it's contents, the bright light of her cell phone lit up the darkness around them. The night around them seemed to slope off, leaving the two of them in their own spotlight.

Morty was relieved to find that he wasn't wrong about his discovery. It was a spaceship of sorts, having taken a plunge straight through the snow and ice and leaving only the bottom ten percent of it exposed. A small emergency latch was what he had run his hands over, but the handle had long since iced over.

"S-stand b-b-back," Summer chattered at his shoulder, pushing him away from the door and pulling out her pistol.

Morty opened his mouth but not before his sister blasted a hole right through the handle, effectively gutting the whole door in the process. The ship shuddered and groaned in response, not used to moving in what could have been decades.

Summer pocketed her gun and gripped the mangled door, and Morty joined her side after a second. Together, they managed to pry it open, revealing a blackened interior. Summer shined the light down; there were tons of supply crates and plenty of damaged machinery, but just like Morty suspected, the spaceship was broken and deserted. No matter. It could serve the purpose of not having them freeze to death.

Summer spared no hesitation and lowered herself in first. She dropped a bit but landed squarely about several feet down. Morty dropped in after her, closing the door and sealing themselves in. Summer tried flipping several levers and switches in hopes to jumpstart the ship, but it was clearly long past the point of repair. Unperturbed, the two of them sat together on the sloped floor of the of the spaceship, leaning against several broken computers. From the duffel bag, Summer drew out a blanket and draped it over her and Morty's shoulders, and for a while they did nothing but share each other's presence and recuperate.

"So," Summer spoke after a while, "What was that whole thing about…you know, with the brainwaves and stuff?"

Oh, right. That.

"R-Rick has, um, it's k-kinda hard to explain," Morty found himself struggling for a description of something that he himself only vaguely understood.

His sister shrugged. "I mean; we've seen a lot of shit over the past two years. Try me."

Fair point. "Well, R-Rick has these, um, t-these 'traceable brainwaves', a-and in order to h-hide, he needs to stand n-next to a—to m-me. And my b-brainwaves, t-they…they block R-Rick's so he c-can hide. So I-I'm sorta like-."

"His human shield?" Summer finished.

"…. yeah. Y-yeah, I guess."

Summer was silent for a while until she finally uttered a single "okay."

Morty gave her a confused look. "Okay? L-like 'I get it' o-okay? You aren't c-confused?"

"Why would I be?" Summer pointed out like it was obvious. "Like I said; we've seen a lot of shit over the past two years. If anything, this is the _least_ surprising thing I've seen. I just wanna make sure you're alright about it. You seemed kinda spooked back at the cabin."

Summer was never really fazed by stuff like this, and sometimes it unnerved Morty. There were times were she seemed totally apathetic to the situation at hand. In many ways, she was more like their grandfather than he was, and Morty wasn't sure how to feel about it. Just this once, however, he was appreciative of her complete indifference. "I-I was at first," he admitted. "But I d-don't think R-Rick would have…it didn't really f-feel like I was a s-shield after a while. I tried n-not to think a-about it, you know?"

Summer's lips curled upwards a touch. "I mean, not really, mister favorite," she teased.

"Summer… "

"No, no, it's fine. I get it. Honestly." Summer shifted under the blanket with her eyes fixed above on the hatch. "I always figured Grandpa Rick liked you better. Jesus, who am I kidding—of course he does. This just, I don't know, proves something, I guess?"

Morty said nothing. Summer dropped the subject, much to his relief. The quiet stretched out into an eternity, farther than any distance they'd traveled over the past week. With dreamlike slowness, Summer drew the prototype portal gun out of the duffel bag and held it up. It did strangely resemble a TV remote, probably because it looked like Rick had created it out of an old one. The buttons were refashioned from channel numbers to symbols Morty didn't recognize, and a small glass screen had been carved into the top where wires had been plugged into it. In spite of the pound of duck tape rolled over it, a green light still emitted from the core underneath it and cast a soft glow over the interior of their shelter.

"We could always go back, you know," Summer's voice was flat.

Morty only leaned back until his head rested against the wall. "I know," he murmured.

Sleep came easily to him that night. It washed over him like a dark wave, and Morty eagerly awaited the dreamless slumber that was calling to him from afar.

-X-

When Morty woke up, it was hard to tell if it was morning or afternoon or still night. The stiffness in his arms and legs told him that more time had passed than he thought, but it certainly wasn't that that forced him to awaken. No, he had the earsplitting sounds, and his sister, to thank for that.

It happened all at once, the world's most effective alarm clock dragging him back into the real world. Morty bolted awake like he'd been doused in ice water, scrambling for the guns in the duffel. "A-are w-we under a-a-attack!?" he hollered as he ripped the bag open and pulled out a laser rifle, swinging it around wildly. Over the racket, it was hard to process much of anything going on.

In response, the emergency hatch was flung open. White light from above blinded Morty momentarily, and he dropped the rifle to shield his eyes.

"Sheesh, Morty, we're not under attack!" Summer's voice pierced through the deafening noise above them. "There's something out here! Come on!"

Morty squinted upwards, eyes failing to adjust to the sudden change in light. A hazy blur that was definitely his sister was pulling itself through the hatch back out into the open. Once his senses had recovered, he scrambled after her back up to the surface.

Morty poked his head out just in time to see the quickly shrinking shape of a spaceship soaring off into the distance on their left side. It was a janky thing, old and barely holding itself together, from the looks of it. It was low to the ground, so it had either just started its decent or just begun its liftoff. It disappeared over the horizon within a matter of seconds, but there was a thick trail of smoke through the sky that showed its path across the planet.

Summer and Morty watched it fly away together. "Civilization?" he wondered aloud.

His sister nodded. "Yeah," she replied, almost breathlessly, like the sight alone had stolen the air from her body. "Go pack everything up. We need to get moving."

Ten minutes later, the two siblings had set a brisk pace in the direction of the fading smoke trails that cut through the atmosphere like a knife. The sun had risen behind them, casting long shadows over the ice that Morty and Summer were forced to keep pace with. The red and green planet above them had moved slightly to the left, and the moons around them had rotated positions yet still hung in the sky. Morty thought it was odd, but thought better of it and decided to keep his mouth shut for the time being.

On and on they went, the only sound being their breathing and the crunching of ice under their boots, before luck decided to shine it's face down upon them. After another hour or so of traveling through the cold, something starting to spring up on the horizon. Their paces unconsciously began to pick up as Summer and Morty both caught sight of another refuge materializing in the distance, and they spared conversation as they hurried towards it.

Closer inspection revealed little else about this mystery place. What Morty had hoped would be a town or a colony or even a small collection of houses turned out to only be one tiny place. A dive by all definitions, a lonely little shack on the edge of the world. It was a shabby looking place, made of several tons of scrap metal pieced together intricately enough that it still held up despite how rundown and patchy it looked. The door seemed to be made of a broken entryway with two curtains acting as a makeshift barrier. The roof was an assortment of different panels and siding from salvaged spaceships, layered over each other like patchwork quilts. Neon rune signs covered every inch of the front, advertising things that Morty wasn't sure he wanted to know about. Outside, several different spaceships were parked, including the one that Morty and Summer had seen flying away from them not so long ago. The scent of smoke, motor oil, and something fried hung over the place like a cloud, and Morty's stomach rumbled in response.

"I could use some food," he confessed.

"Yeah," Summer nodded, digging her heel into the ice. "Heat too."

And so, somewhere between apprehension and relief, Morty approached the door with his sister on his heels and slipped inside.

The interior of the shack appeared to be set up in the style of a tavern that reminded Morty strongly of the place he and Rick visited almost two years ago on the stairs of giant court. The place had an air of sluggishness to it, like the world was going at half speed on a lazy Sunday. Several booths and tables had been set up in the corners to accommodate the few patrons that had been drawn in. Across the back wall, a bar was being tended to by a single alien with several free-moving arms mixing drinks and serving customers. A record booth of sorts was tucked into the corner playing a tune produced from foreign instruments. The seats were filled with various patrons enjoying a hot meal and dozing to the sound of the music. Several sat at the bar; a green Flarpian dolling out the money for another plate, a hooded alien to their right quietly sipping its drink, and an orange creature with six eyes speaking in whispers to their purple-scaled conversation partner. About five sat at a circular table on the side playing the intergalactic version of blackjack. One of the players barked something to their opponent, pointing to the record booth. Grumbling in some alien language, a second orange alien dropped its cards and headed over to the corner. Along the way, their gaze fell on Morty and Summer, and three red eyes narrowed dangerously.

Morty tugged at Summer's arm and led her to an open booth in the corner of the dive. The two of them slid into the seats while Summer kicked the duffel bag under the table. They inched as far back as they could, pressing themselves against the rickety walls.

"Do you have a-any money?" Morty asked in undertone.

Together, Summer and Morty dug through their pockets and managed to pool together twenty-seven dollars and fifty-eight cents. As Summer tossed in the last nickel, she sighed bitterly. "Think there's some sort of exchange counter on this God forsaken rock?" she half-joked, the good natured tone from last night gone from her voice.

Morty's eyes drifted to the other side of the room. At the bar, three different heads snapped back to their meals as he looked around. Unnerved, Morty's attention fell on a blue and black alien that was eating some sort of meatball dish. It didn't look away as Morty locked eyes with it, instead choosing to glower at him as it finished its meal, it's mouth opening to reveal several rows of pointed teeth. Morty turned back to his sister, furiously wringing his hands under the table.

"So," Summer's eyes darted back and forth furtively, performing her own scan of the dive, "what's next?"

"I-I mean, it's easy, r-right?" Morty argued. "We g-go and find R-Rick? And th-then we figure out w-what we do about the F-federation?"

Summer snorted, eyebrows furrowed. "Well, when you put it like that, it sounds like a cakewalk."

"I k-know, okay? I g-get it. We just n-need to work out t-the small th-things." Morty held his ground, undeterred by her sarcasm. "We should j-just focus on one t-thing on a time—fr-freeing Rick, right?"

Uncertainty overshadowed Summer's features. "Yeah, but, I mean…where do we even start?"

Both siblings sat in silence for a bit, mulling the words over.

Summer made the first suggestion. "We should get off-planet."

"And w-where would we go?" Morty countered. "Weisenhurt said he had friends h-here. A-and we don't even k-know where the hell we are. W-we should stay put, tr-try to think of a plan, and f-figure out who o-our allies are."

Summer's eyebrows, if it were possible, knit even tighter. " _Had_ , Morty. He _had_ allies here. And that was, like, ten years ago, or longer." She pointed out, her expression growing more and more irked. "We have to assume that everyone here is either dead or dying because who the hell could live on a planet like this? We need to cut our loses and look someplace else."

"And h-how are we going to d-do that? We don't h-have a ship, Summer."

"Think, dumbass. Did you even see all the ships out there?" Summer peered over the back of the booth, as if afraid someone would overhear her, and sat back down. "Half of the aliens in here are drunk. If we jack a ship, we can go and look for another place and be gone before any of them even come to their senses."

Morty didn't even want to think about all the things wrong with that plan. For starters, they had no hope of finding food or water without any sort of money. They wouldn't have any place to stay and no friends to stay with. For the briefest of moments, Squanchy popped into his head, but the last he'd seen of Rick's other friend, he was going on a rampage across the ruined reception. If he wasn't dead or captured, he certainly wouldn't have stuck around on Planet Squanch; besides, Morty wasn't even sure if he could find his way back to the place if he tried. And the real kicker was, if the Federation truly could track his brainwaves, then they'd be sitting ducks out in the depths of space as they unwittingly wandered closer and closer back to Federation jurisdiction. "I d-don't know…" Morty began, but Summer cut across him immediately.

"What do you mean you don't know?" she snapped, fingers gripping the edge of the table as she tried to keep a hold on her emotions. "News flash, Morty; we don't really have much of a choice here!"

A spark of irritation made Morty's mouth grow thin. "You're n-not listening to m-me," he retorted.

Summer shook her head in exasperation. "No shit. You haven't thrown anything in the ring that we can make use of. There's so much space out there and we're stuck on this dumb rock and we have rides waiting for us right outside! I mean, I think we need to ask what Grandpa Rick wou-?"

At the mention of their grandfather's name, a geyser of emotion erupted inside of Morty. All his anger and frustration and helplessness pouring into one swift outburst like Old Faithful, hot between his ribs. "We're not R-Rick, Summer!" he snarled through clenched teeth. "We can't g-go out and build s-spaceships and make g-guns and…we just c-can't. R-Rick's not here t-to help us, so we ne-need to be smart, okay!? Your plan is _s-stupid_. We'd only g-get our asses c-caught! If the F-federation can find me, t-then why go a-any closer to them a-and g-give them the o-opportunity!? _Think_ , Summer!"

His rage faded almost as soon as it formed, leaving Morty slightly weak. Summer's expression softened, her lips pursing together like she was holding back her own debate. She brushed a piece of ginger hair almost bashfully out of her face and looked Morty in the eyes. "We're not Grandpa," she agreed. "But we're the only ones who can save him and we aren't going to do that if we don't take risks."

"We c-can't do that if w-we get found o-out," Morty refuted. "We need to be c-careful, too."

Summer looked away for the briefest of moments and bit the tip of her nail. Morty cracked his knuckles one by one under the table, the warmth around him making his ski jacket cling to the back of his neck. Everything was too tight again, and he'd give anything to strip his clothes off or go back outside.

"Compromise?" Summer spoke up after a long pause, an apology writing itself in her eyes.

Morty nodded, not unkindly. Relief flooded through him. "S-sure," he responded shakily, "compromise."

Summer nodded slowly. "Okay, so no going to look for Grandpa Rick just yet. But we at least need to get off of here. We don't have to go far—just somewhere better than this. We can't sleep in some broken ship every night and hope for a miracle, Morty, and you know it too."

That heavy, broken realization had finally sunk in, and Morty found himself finally agreeing with her. "What about t-the other planet? Up there?" he suggested.

Summer nodded, looking thoughtful. "Maybe there, yeah. At least until we can get our bearings and figure out where we are?"

Well, that was it, then, right?

Morty seized the duffel bag and slung it back over his shoulder as Summer recollected the money and stuffed it back in her pockets. Together, they made an attempt to slip out the door as nonchalantly as possible. The blackjack aliens growled something unintelligible and one of them threw down their cards in a rage. The purple alien threw down the money for another drink, swaying on it's stool. No one really gave them much of a second look anymore, but Morty couldn't help but feel eyes on his back as he and Summer crossed the room and made their swift exit. Sharing foreboding looks, they crossed the ice and headed for the makeshift parking lot besides the shack.

Several spaceships still stood outside of the dive, ready for the taking. All of them were different from Rick's ship and the Federation's ships in a crapton of ways. Most were blocky and large with peeling, foreign logos on the sides. Less like personal vehicles and more like company cars . They seemed like the intergalactic versions of eighteen-wheelers, in a way. Rust coated the outside of one like a bad paint job. Another was smoking from the hood, blocking out the better smells and giving the space around them a dry musk that no amount of Febreeze could whisk away. A third looked decent, but when Summer ran her hands over one of the thrusters, it shook violently and nearly detached at the base. Summer peeked inside and came out disgusted. "It's full of duct tape," she spat in disbelief, "who the hell patches up a ship with duct tape?"

Morty shrugged across the way, peering through the window of the last ship in the row. This one looked sturdy, to say the least. Big enough to support two teenagers but innocuous enough to hopefully not draw any attention. Morty waved Summer over. "What about this one?" he offered, jiggling the handle on the slim chance that it would be unlocked.

Summer hurried to his side and gave the ship her own little inspection, coming back to his side with a nod of approval. "Looks good. How to we get in?"

Morty shrugged and began to dig through the duffel bag, looking for something to use. "Pick the lock?" he suggested, moving several bean cans aside.

Summer looked thoughtful and inspected the lock, then proceeded to dig through her pockets. "I know I have a fucking hairpin i—fucking knew it," she mumbled to herself, pulling out a thin piece of plastic and shoving Morty out of the way to inspect the lock. Her tongue between her teeth, she inserted the hairpin inside and began to wiggle it around.

"You've ever done this before?" Morty dared to question.

"How else do you think I changed my grades sophomore year?"

Morty sighed.

"Step away from the vehicle, now." A new voice rang out from close behind them.

_Fuck._

Morty and Summer spun around, his sister already drawing her blue pistol and shoving him behind her. Less than two feet away from them was one of the patrons from the dive, the hooded one at the bar. It wore a tannish sort of parka that shadowed half of it's face, and black pants and boots covered the rest of the body. In its hands was its own pistol, and Morty realized that it was a much better put together pistol that was sleek and sturdy. The voice was light, but it cracked the air around them, a whip full of accusations.

Summer spoke again, her voice shaking almost as bad as the weapon in her hands. "Listen. This looks bad but we _need_ this ship. We need to leave."

"What dimension are you from?" the alien asked, Summer's explanation thrown to the wayside.

Morty's mind spun around, the switch from terror to bewilderment so abrupt that it sent his brain into a spiral. He didn't know how, but he managed to croak out a feeble "C-137" from behind his sister's back, wondering where this was all going.

The alien lowered its pistol at the mention of the number, Morty barely able to make out the eyes under the hood and the confusion held within them now. "You're from this dimension?" it established, sounding more for itself than for them. "How did you get all the way out here without Rick?"

Summer and Morty exchanged a bewildered glance.

The alien, in the meantime, had removed it's hood.

It was a massive relief to see that their adversary was relatively humanlike, or else it would have just been really awkward. Powder blue skin framed a pointed face and flat chin, and stark white hair fell to the shoulders and no further. The alien could only be described as female, or at least what Morty had hoped was female (gender, as Rick once explained to him, was a weird concept in space). It—she—had purple eyes and vertical pupils that were hard to get a read on. Were they angry or fearful or relieved or all three? When she holstered her gun, Morty could see four fingers on one hand. Odd, considering the other hand hand five.

"My name is Yhlari," the alien introduced herself, "and you two need to come with me. There's a lot we need to discuss."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things:
> 
> One; I borrowed a bit of the recent character's design from Pocket Mortys (specifically the Exo-Omega Morty). Originally, she was going to have red hair and gills, but then I realized I'd be ripping off a certain game created by some dude called Toby Fox, but that's neither here nor there. (If I'm going to rip off a game, might as well take it from the source material, am I right?)
> 
> Two, I've never had a lot of problems with original characters in stories because I enjoy trying to flesh out a character from scratch but I know some people absolutely hate them and for reasons I can completely understand. All I'm saying is that this is the last character of my own creation that I'm going to introduce because I simply am writing a story on a very large scale and I absolutely need them to drive the plot. I'm sorry (and I totally get it) if this turns you off but I can promise you that I'm working out ways to fit a bunch of other characters from the show into this story in a way that makes sense and the focus will still be kept where it counts: Morty, Summer, and the Smith family.
> 
> With that said, thank you for reading and please review! I love to hear your comments!


	9. I Know What You Did Last Summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks so much for the reviews!
> 
> So college has really kicked my ass for the last few weeks, but that's only one of a few reasons why I was a little delayed on making this chapter. 2): I was working on several other chapters at the same time, as well as a few extra WIPs that I want to complete when I have time to spare. 3): This ended up being a very dialogue-heavy chapter, and it ended up being a bit of a slog to finish. Still came out alright, though.
> 
> Nevertheless, please enjoy!

For all the crazy shit that had happened so far, Morty's only thought was simply how weird it was that they'd already treaded this path before. I mean for crying out loud, he and Summer were following a mysterious figure through the ice and snow for the second time in just as many days. Even Bill Murray in _Groundhog Day_ would have raised an eyebrow or two at that. Now, Rick was a vehement disbeliever of the concept of coincidental events, but Morty was starting to consider the possibility that his life was now trapped on an endlessly repeating track that he desperately needed to get off of.

Yet, for all of his reservations, he found that he simply couldn't tear himself away from this stranger as she led them back across the frozen tundra, Morty shrugging the duffel bag and Summer bringing up the rear. He didn't even need to look behind him to know that one hand hovered over his sister's pistol, her face set in a hard expression on their escort's back.

It was still a complete mystery what made Morty want to follow this stranger. What made him almost run to catch up with her as she turned away from the ships and motioned for them to hurry up. What made him force down his misgivings as she guided the two of them back into the pure white desert that never ended, the rear of the dive fading away into a gray speck until it was absorbed by the horizon and was gone. Perhaps it was that tug in his gut, that feeling of having nothing really left to lose. Despite all the revelations he'd experienced over the past few nights, he was still a kid of few answers, so maybe, just maybe, he could find more.

This alien, Yhlari, seemed to know her way without directions in spite of the complete lack of landmarks or maps. She made erratic turns this way and that way, yet never seemed lost in doing so. Morty and Summer exchanged their fair share of baffled looks, but restrained themselves and kept their mouths shut. Across the ice they went, with the sun slowly falling behind them and stretching their shadows until they almost strained against their feet in their attempts to free themselves.

After about an hour, Morty couldn't take it anymore. "Uh, h-hey," he piped up, ignoring Summer's growls of protest in his ear. "Wh-where are we going?"

Yhlari didn't turn around, but she did slow her pace slightly. "It's getting late," she answered simply, "and we need to get out of the cold before the sun goes down. We'll never find the bunker through the night."

Ignoring the surplus of questions already growing in his mind, Morty pressed on, trying to maintain a manageable conversation. "Y-yeah, about that. Why i-is the sun s-setting already? I-I thought that this p-planet would b-be, you know, um, i-it would h-have longer d-days or something?"

"FR-0284 isn't a planet; it's a moon," Yhlari explained, waving upwards to the red and green planet above them. "It orbits FR-4839 above us, and FR-0283 and FR-0285 flank it," she pointed out each moon as she spoke of them. "The sun is blocked by FR-4839 as we complete the orbit. We get about five hours of sunlight per day—the rest is a perpetual darkness."

Morty stared at his shoes, the heat rising in his face so fast that he could feel his ears burning. "Oh," he mumbled.

"It's fine," Yhlari assured him, waving a hand like she was dismissing his embarrassment. "You've never been here; I can understand that. Tell me, if Rick didn't send you, then who did?"

Summer jumped into the conversation now, voice dripping with accusation. "How do you know our grandpa didn't send us?" she inquired, the prospect of a challenge on the edge of her tongue.

Yhlari continued on, unfazed by his sister's sharpness. "Process of elimination. When this dimension's Rick Sanchez was captured, did you really think the Federation would keep it quiet?" a form of anger had started pushing through her words. "The Federation likes their trophies, and your grandfather was one they've been searching the galaxy for for a very long time. Keeping it under wraps was never going to happen."

"You're o-one of them, aren't you?" Morty asked, "One of the ones in the rebellion?"

Yhlari was silent for the briefest of moments. "Former rebellion," she corrected him. "We disbanded to the furthest corners of the universe before you or your sister ever left your home planet. But yes, I fought with your grandfather once upon a time. But that's a story for another day. There's a storm coming tonight and I'd rather not be caught up in it."

They settled back into the respective roles not long after. If there was indeed a storm coming, then it was baring down fast. A wind whistled in one ear and out the other, so much so that different tones rang through Morty's head as the gusts gradually began to pick up speed. A fog seemed to be descending on them, blanketing the flat plains with a wet mist. There wouldn't be much time before _something_ —what that something was Morty was unsure of—crashed down on them. Yhlari said nothing more, instead quickening her pace along the ice before them. Summer's expression was caught somewhere between distrust and interest, balancing the pros and cons of their situation. Morty adjusted his grip on the bag and in the meantime nearly crashed into their guide's back as she came to a halt in a seemingly barren part of the moon. Rubbing his nose, Morty peered over her shoulder in an effort to see their final destination and wasn't really disappointed to see that there was none. The world before them was just as empty as it had been for the past day. But Yhlari wasn't looking at the space before them. She was looking down, so Morty lowered his gaze to his feet.

She brushed some snow away with her foot, grumbling about the weather. A small metal manhole poked it's way out of the whiteness, a gray blemish on miles of clean ice. Yhlari bent down, pressed a few buttons, and a handle popped up to meet her hand. As she opened it, the alien calmly motioned for the two of them to follow her. Metal rungs had been hammered into the side, creating a makeshift ladder into the underground.

Yhlari went first, lowering herself down rungs that descended into nothing but a black hole. It wasn't long before she was swallowed whole, vanishing into the ice. Shoving down the last of his misgivings, Morty grabbed the first rung and delved after her into the dark.

Summer shut the hatch on her way down, leaving them in a darkness so thick that Morty couldn't even see the ice several inches in front of his nose. Each step down was a gamble for his life; one slip and he'd be the first one to the bottom with a broken back to show for it. And with a duffel bag on his back that was like a body weighing him down, it was almost like fate was trying to slip Morty up. Thus, he tested each and every rung before lowering himself onto it, if only to make sure that one wasn't missing or broken or otherwise. The process of climbing down a fucking ladder stretched on to absurd lengths. Yhlari's footsteps soon faded from earshot, and even Summer was becoming distant as they went further and further down.

And then, mercifully, there was a light that glowed from the bottom. Morty dared a look down to see Yhlari waving at him from the bottom of the hole, the door opening to expose a glowing interior. There were only five rungs left, but Morty didn't dare test whatever fortune he did or didn't have. He reached the bottom in one piece and threw the bag on the ground in a huff. Summer joined his side moments later, dropping to the ground from a few rungs up. Morty let her carry the bag inside as Yhlari led them inside.

"Welcome to the bunker," she spoke a tad too fondly, motioning around. "Make yourselves at home."

Home might have been a bit of a strong term here. Morty found himself longing for the days where he was stranded back at a cabin in the middle of nowhere, Colorado. The bunker's main room was giving off the strong vibes of a generic conference room if the company had decided to transfer to the North Pole. A long table stretched from end to end, bolted to the ice, the chairs pushed into it either broken or overturned save for the one at the head. Several computers lined the walls on either side, most of them in disrepair or just smashed altogether. Three different hallways, one on each wall, led to deeper areas of the bunker, all carved from ice that seemed to emit a blue glow underground. Some mats had been placed over the icy floors to offer some traction, which Morty was appreciative of. The entire place felt like a prison. The walls too solid, the air too dry, the space just too empty and fractured. He made a mental note that if he ever got sent to a place with this kind of feel, relocation should probably be first on his agenda.

Even though his opinions were mostly negative, Morty knew better than to voice them aloud. "What h-happened to this place?" he settled for that instead, watching idly as Summer moved to the table and placed the duffel bag down.

Their guide shrugged. "I wish I knew," she offered, heading for a set of lockers on the back wall. "This place has been here for twenty years; I've been here for six months. Any number of things could have happened, really. Takeovers, final stands, raids. Your guess is as good as mine."

Before Morty could respond, Yhlari pulled out a black belt and tossed it to Summer, who caught it with a distrusting look and held it up dubiously.

"Can you holster that thing?" Yhlari's voice was strained, casually motioning to the blue pistol that was in his sister's pocket. "I can't have you blowing out your intestines with you carrying a gun in your pocket like that."

Summer gave Morty an exasperated look but nonetheless began to strap the belt to her waist and leg, sliding her pistol into the holster. Yhlari, in the meantime, had moved to the opposite end of the table and bent down.

"Shit," she exhaled, purple eyes narrowing in an irritation that unknowingly mimicked his sister's. "Mort, look in one of the computer monitors over there. I'm positive one or two of them may have an extra cloroscope filter."

Cloroscope filters…now that really brought him back. Bittersweet memories overran Morty's mind—of Rick barging in one night three weeks after he first came to live with them, shoving what looked like a retro Simon machine into his grandson's hands before dragging him out into the garage. Morty protested the entire way, complaining that he'd had a history test the next morning, demanding that he needed his rest. But when Rick stuck a thin white battery-looking thing into the back of the machine and turned it on, Morty couldn't muster up another objection as galaxies spread through the garage and illuminated the workspace. Distant stars like fairy lights that were twice as bright and half the size. Miniscule suns pulsing with a faint radiant energy. Neon yellows and blues and purples and greens that seemed so tangible that Morty had stroked the nearest planet like an awestruck man desperate for something he could never have.

" _Just y-urrrp-you wait, M-Morty. Once I-I fin-urrrp-inish this shi—this baby, nothing's gonna b-be outta reach."_ Rick was always so drunk, but Morty sensed something genuine in his voice that night when he clapped him on the shoulder. _"You and me, M-Morty. Ain't g-urrrp-gonna be nothing that's h-holdin' us back."_

The thoughts sunk down in his mind like bad medicine, the taste still lingering in the back of his mouth as Morty shuffled over to one of the broken computers and pried the control panel open.

"So," Yhlari spoke up from across the room, "who was it that sent you here?"

"General Amos Weisenhurt," Summer answered from the other side. She was always wearing her wariness like armor in these kinds of situations, her disdain the weapon of choice. Morty bit back his criticisms and pushed an alien circuit board aside.

Yhlari gave a thoughtful grunt. "Interesting. No one's heard from Weisenhurt in a few years. Tell me, how is he?"

Running for his life in the Rockies, chased by half the Federation's men or more, probably. Morty didn't really want to consider the kind of shit Weisenhurt was probably going through at the moment because of them. His insides squirmed ruefully as Morty finally located a thin white cloroscope filter and yanked it out. He shook it slightly, but there didn't appear to be any juice left in it, so Morty moved to the next broken computer and thrust his hands back into the wires.

Fortunately for him, Summer was much better at filling the silence. "I don't know," she answered with a shrug of her shoulders.

Morty's tongue was between his teeth when he finally located some new cloroscope filters and tugged them out. Again, he shook them, satisfied to find that they were still decently charged. He stood back up and headed back towards Yhlari, who was occupied with her own set of controls while practically buried in a pile of twisted wires and broken circuit boards. She accepted the cloroscope filters with a nod of thanks and stuck them back into the machinery.

"So…u-um…" Morty stammered, balling his hands in and out. "Are you going t-to try a-and…uh."

"Probably not," Yhlari cut across him, her tone idle, almost bored, "can you hand me that Krixboard, please? The green one?"

His lips sagging into a pout, Morty fetched the item for her but not without some reluctance. "Hey, y-you didn't even l-let me finish," he retorted, watching the blue alien snap the machinery back into place.

"Because I know that what you were going to say was wrong," came the teasing reply. "If C-137's Rick hasn't been here, then how would his Morty know how to fix these?"

Annoyance burst through him. "Huh?"

She exhaled. "I'm not too keen on spilling all of my secrets just yet," Yhlari's voice was taunting, a faint grin gracing her face like a mischievous child instead of an intergalactic rebel.

Morty couldn't help but feel a slight prick of reproach. "I mean, you k-know us, so-."

"You think you're the only Morty I've met?" Yhlari interjected again as she dug through the contents of the motherboard.

That caught Morty off guard. As his mouth opened wordlessly, struggling for a response, Yhlari nipped his unanswered questions in the bud. "Ricks have taken their Mortys here from time to time. Apparently FR-0284 doesn't exist in every dimension, so they think they can salvage this bunker for parts. I've sent at least four of your alternate selves away in the past month, warning them to stay out of C-137 if they know what's good for them. It's not safe for Ricks to be jumping dimensions anymore."

Summer cocked her head, ginger hair failing off one shoulder and brushing against the other. "Why not?"

Yhlari's lips thinned, desperately holding something back but having the willpower to restrain herself. "Because of what's happened here," her words came out slowly and methodically, tiptoeing around a secret topic. "If the Federation's had their way with your grandfather by now, then no one is going to be safe, really."

Morty felt his feet grow numb, and he gripped the edge of the table to steady himself. "W-what are you t-talking about?" he managed to force the words out.

Yhlari's eyes were full of an odd mixture of anger, determination, and apprehension. She backed out from under the panel and closed it. "That should do it," she murmured to herself and pressed the red button on the control panel.

Summer and Morty backed up in surprise as a sputtering hologram shot out of a monitor in the table. Before them, planets materialized and spread out in all directions, zooming through the room at high speeds. Several star systems passed through Morty's chest on their way to their final resting place. Slowly, everything fell into place and settled down. A fuzzy holographic model of the Milky Way galaxy lit up the room, gently swirling over their heads.

Yhlari turned a knob and the image zoomed in to a star system on the furthest edges of the galaxy, where at least twenty small planets circled around a teeny star. "That's where we are," Yhlari announced, constricting the image further until the white ping pong ball of their moon was in full view, chasing other moons around a basketball sized red and green planet. "We're about one hundred and fifty, maybe one hundred seventy-five thousand light years away from Earth, and that's at my best guess." She spun the knob again and the image retracted back into the spiral of stars before them. "And this whole place represents the infinite number of planets or otherwise that your grandfather could be."

Morty felt his heart sink. "You d-don't know either?" he mustered a weak reply.

"No one knows," Yhlari's sympathy only made him feel worse. "I might not want to spill my secrets, but the Federation's much more extreme then I could ever hope to be. They've trained their soldiers intensively. One of their first lessons is to learn all the galaxy's deepest, darkest secrets, then they spend the next few years learning how to guard them with their lives. I've captured more of them then I've ever cared to count, trying to get any sort of information out of them, but they'd rather kill themselves than ever admit to anything."

That made Morty's skin prick. Just…something about that knowledge, how it was obtained and the way it was delivered. He strained to locate the cheerful tease that he'd heard only second's before, but Yhlari's voice was straight deadpan now, her expression blank as she switched the monitor off and sighed in dejection. A strain of hopelessness was shoved down in there, one that could only come from efforts that Morty couldn't begin to wrap his head around, and she was trying her best to hide it.

"But that's a mission for another day, one step at a time." she muttered, half to herself, "Now will you too please tell me how you arrived on this planet before I practice what I've just preached?"

Even Summer looked spooked at that, because she, albeit grudgingly, drew out the prototype and tossed it to their guide. Yhlari caught it and turned it over carefully in her hands, recognition returning to her gaze.

"I remember this," there was a fondness in her words now, and a small smile graced her mouth. "I remember Rick building the parts to this. Ha, it took three teams to the Meolithian galaxies to find enough smuggled uranium to power the core. Shit, I didn't think Rick or Weisenhurt still had this thing. Never struck me as a sentimental kind of guy, you know?"

Unsure of what to do or how to react, Morty and Summer nodded. Yhlari laughed a little at their actions.

"Don't be so stiff, you two," it came off mostly humorously, but there was a layer of seriousness below that was starting to break through. Yhlari placed the prototype down tenderly, like she was afraid that it was going to break in her hands. "I haven't given myself a proper introduction yet, have I? My name is Yhlari, and I worked with your grandfather in the rebellion twenty years ago."

As she spoke, her five-fingered hand rubbed over her four-fingered one. Whether it was voluntary or not, Morty wasn't sure. Yhlari seemed to notice it after a moment, however, and quickly tucked her maimed hand into a pocket on her jacket. Morty decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and hold his tongue.

His sister's interest was snagged now, and she eyed their guide keenly. "Doing what?"

Yhlari smiled again, but it didn't make it to her eyes this time. "Plenty of things. Officer in the Exanthorp army. Sniper during the Battle of Blood Ridge on Glapflap-003. Assassin of several of the Federation's top politicians and generals," she told them with eyes hardened like concrete, "and a bunch of other things that I'm not sure you'd like to hear the answer to."

Morty figured that it was probably best not to pry into this, for once.

Yhlari shook her head slightly. "But that was all a long time ago. It's not important anymore. I suppose I've been doing what you've been doing. Hopping from planet to planet, trying to keep my head down until we can get something going again. So, what do you two have in mind for finding your grandfather?"

Summer and Morty exchanged a look. "We…" Summer began, looking lost, "we were gonna try to go to that pl-I mean, FR…FR-4839."

"You'd be wasting your time. There's nothing there anyway, and the atmosphere is so thin that you'd asphyxiate before you'd make it a mile on foot," Yhlari informed them. "I don't want to be the one to throw out advice, but you're better off staying here until we can work something out."

Now it was Morty's turn to react. "We?"

"Yes, we." Yhlari quipped back sarcastically. "You think you can save the universe on your own against the Federation? Several star systems went up against them, and we're still bearing the wounds from it. I hate to be the pessimist, but the odds are a little stacked against you at the moment."

"T-the…the u-universe?" Morty stammered back. "No, no, it's n-not like that. We only want t-to find out grandfather."

Unexpectedly, Yhlari's expression softened. "Well, I hate to break it to you, kid," she told him soberly, as if she pitied him, "but they're sort of one in the same at the moment."

Morty just gaped at her as his mind processed what she said.

She laughed again at Morty's blank expression, brushing a strand of snow white hair behind her ear. "Your grandfather is one of the most wanted criminals for a reason, Morty. I'd have thought Rick would have told you."

_I guess there's a lot of things Rick didn't want to tell us._

Summer drummed her fingers on the table, startling Morty from his sour thoughts. "I thought it was because of the rebellion stuff. I mean; the murder, the gunrunning, we've," she motioned between her and her brother, "seen that stuff already."

"But it's not just that, while granted that is a big part of it. Your grandfather is also the biggest wellspring for knowledge this side of the Vertion Systems," Yhlari explained, her voice thin once more. "And they're going to start with his portal gun. The council will probably come next, too. The Federation's had their beady eyes on dimension hopping since Rick built this," she gestured to the prototype resting by her hand.

Morty shook his head. "Bu-but, I mean, why R-Rick? He can't…" the words snagged on his throat on the way out, hanging by a single thread of hesitation, "he c-can't possibly be _that_ i-important?"

Something conflicted passed over Yhlari's face. A moment of concern. Of commiseration. "Morty, Summer, listen to me carefully. Your grandfather didn't just perfect multiverse travel; he _invented_ it. Think clearly—have you ever met another creature across the galaxy that can willingly hop from alternate universe to alternate universe with the ease that Rick Sanchez could?"

Well, yeah…hadn't he? It seemed like such a simple question. There had to be at least one other person that could use portals, that could hop around the multiverse in the way that the three of them did. But the longer he dwelled at it, the more Morty realized that he didn't have another answer. Morty and Summer looked at each other and he could see that she was just as lost for another option as he was.

Their guide only shook her head. "They, the Federation, have been trying to get their hands on multiverse technology since Rick invented it."

That couldn't be true. It just…couldn't.

"Why?" Summer demanded.

"Not everyone wants to use dimension jumping for debauchery. You two couldn't even imagine the kind of damage that that kind of power could yield." Yhlari pointed it out like it was obvious. "The Federation controls about seventy percent of this galaxy in _this_ dimension, but imagine them controlling the entirety of it. Now imagine them controlling two of them. Or ten of them. Entire planes of reality, conceivable or not, could be in their hands. And Rick was the master key to their whole plan. Chasing your grandfather and his friends over several hundred star systems suddenly became first on their list and we had to do what we could to protect him."

Something clicked again for Morty. "That's why y-you knew R-Rick," he figured, hanging somewhere between fury and respect, "because you w-were assigned to protect h-him."

Yhlari averted her eyes for a heartbeat, her maimed hand tightening over her pistol. "At points," she conceded. "Several squads and mine swapped in and out. Protection of our scientists was a duty all of us shared, but only the elite were assigned to protect Rick Sanchez. When we had the time, that was," a darkened look passed over the alien's purple gaze, making her look much older than she was, "and time was never something we had back in those days."

Before Morty could ask whatever he hell she meant by that, a yawn crowded into his mouth and tried to force it's way out. He clamped a hand over his teeth instinctively, but the weariness was no longer something he could ignore.

Summer had collapsed into one of the seats at the head of the table, nodding off as well. She at least was making half-assed attempts to listen, but her face was so blank Morty wondered if she had possibly fallen asleep with her eyes open.

Yhlari's eyes grew sympathetic once more, her face relaxing as she looked at him. "Listen," her voice was gentle, full of a pity that Morty would've loathed if he hadn't been so far gone, "it's been a rough day for you two. Why don't you get some more sleep? We'll have plenty of time to talk over the course of the next few days."

Morty, slipping further and further into his fatigue, couldn't find the strength to argue with her.

He somehow found the duffel bag again, sliding it over his shoulders as he and his sister fell behind Yhlari, who guided them down one of the halls. Lights flickered rhythmically overhead, only making him sleepier. The alien was talking but Morty barely heard her, her words passing through various detours in his mind and never finding a resting place. She spoke about a mess hall down this way, and a training room down that way. She opened a door at the end of the hall and motioned to one side, telling them something about a cleaning station, whatever that was. Was it a bathroom? If so, Morty desperately needed one. He was too nervous to smell his clothes; the stench would probably floor him, knock him out like he'd gone eight rounds with heavyweight Tyson.

Along the other wall were lines of identical gray doors lined up neatly, spaced apart at just the right distance. Yhlari pressed a few buttons on the control panel and the doors parted to reveal a room. "This is where you'll be staying," she told him, ushering him inside, "make yourself comfortable."

The room was spacious, fortunately. Morty stepped inside and was impressed with the wide floor he had to work with. Broad and airy, yet at the same time blank and expressionless, devoid of personality. It consisted of nothing but a desk in one corner and a small bed in the other, facing each other in a strange stand off. The space was drenched in dull grays that seemed to suck the life out of the space around him. If anything now, the large size hindered his new living space because it felt too barren and too conforming. He wished he had a poster or a flag so he could decorate the walls like a immature college student.

In light of everything so far, maybe prison wasn't that far off of a guess.

The door behind him slammed shut almost immediately, sealing him within. For the briefest of moments, Morty feared that Yhlari really had locked him in until he saw another control panel on the wall next to him. Mentally scolding himself for being so paranoid, he slid the duffel bag off his shoulders and began to unpack it.

The bean cans were soon stacked neatly inside of the desk, four cans high and seven cans back. It was impressive that such a tiny space could fit so much food, but Morty didn't question it too much. The laser rifles were carefully placed against the wall, and Morty triple checked to make sure that the safeties were off and they wouldn't randomly fire during the night. The rest of what Weisenhurt had packed for them was a mystery to him, so Morty was quite taken aback when he drew a ten inch hunting knife out of the duffel bag when he knew he and Summer didn't pack it back home. He placed it on his new desk, not really sure what else to do with it.

Finally, Morty drew out the holotape that had led them all here in the first place. It was still intact despite the cold, the gunfire, and all the other shit they'd endured, much to Morty's relief. He placed it on the shelf above his bed and kicked the now empty bag underneath it. Exhausted, Morty collapsed on the bed and felt the springs creak and groan with age and disuse. The rest of the bunker was deathly silent, so much so that it was starting to hurt his ears.

Morty drew out his phone and tried to dial his mother but there was no signal. Figures. Oh well, it was a small hope anyway. Morty sighed and let his hand fall to his chest.

There was an echo-y sound coming from down the hall that started to fill the space around him. It sounded like water running—Summer must've buckled and decided to use the cleaning stations. The lonely, desolate feeling of the bunker made the sounds carry long distances, flooding through the place and seeping under every crack and crevice.

Wrapped in the ambient noises around him, Morty finally slipped into sleep, his body curled up tight against the cold that didn't seem to be through with him just yet. The rhythmic sounds of his breathing joined the running water, creating a lullaby to lull him back to his dreams once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The good thing is that the next chapter, if I'm diligent, should be up next week. It already has 4,000 words to it, looking like it might even crack 6k, but let's not get ahead of ourselves.
> 
> EDIT: So one last thing I forgot to add; in terms of how space travel works, I figured that a decent average for spaceship speed in this universe would be about a thousand light years an hour (since the spaceship Rick built can use dark matter, I'd imagine it can go much faster). Typically speaking, 175k light years would equate to a straight week of travel before you'd arrive at your destination. So yeah, they're pretty far out.
> 
> Thanks for reading and please review, follow, and fav if you enjoyed!


	10. A Brief Rickterlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thanks for all the reviews and kudos!
> 
> Told you guys I'd have this ready for the weekend! Please enjoy!

_My name is Rick Sanchez._

An air vent opened up somewhere. Maybe it was miles below him. Distance seemed relative here.

_I'm from dimension C-137._

The rhythmic, then suppressed gasps of inmates soon was filling the air. The prisoners who hadn't been reduced to vegetables with skin turned to each other, sharing foreboding looks. Guess it was time for their daily rounds of nutrient supplements.

_I have a daughter named Beth, who married an idiot named Jerry._

Now, someone was gasping to his right. Damn, he thought he'd have a few more moments of solitude before he was poked like a pincushion.

_I have two grandkids, Summer and Morty._

The next time Rick Sanchez looked up, the drones were coming down the rows of inmates in maximum security. One stopped right in front of him. They were a shiny black chrome, spherical, and had several appendages for various duties. One was raised up and scanned the exposed inside of his forearm, looking for the correct space to insert the supplements. Rick barely had any time to brace himself before a needle was jabbed into a vein and a burst of white hot adrenaline rushed through him. It was gone in a matter of seconds, leaving his thin frame wracked, and Rick found himself glaring at the drone as it hovered away for a new prisoner to take care of.

That specific drone buzzed from his wall of prison cubes to the one across from it. Rick's eyes darted back and forth, quietly observing those who'd been strapped and sentenced to the same fate as he had. The maximum security prison was lined end to end with hundreds of thousands of prisoners packed tightly like cans of processed food and shelved in aisles that went up and down for who knew how long. Prisoners surrounded Rick on all sides and went down and down and down. His specific wall was facing another group of inmates and separated by a drop so deep that Rick wasn't sure if it even had a bottom. It must've though, because the prison cubes that contained prisoners kept going down until they were swallowed by the darkness. Rick heard noises from the depths of the abyss before: pleas and prayers for mercy. Distance was relative; they could have been several rows or several miles below him, all pressed up by the never-ending black.

He tried to enjoy the lights above him and not worry about it too much.

If Rick had learned anything about the Federation in his time here, it was that they had a very systematic way of doing things. They didn't like mess, they didn't like free will, and they definitely didn't like the idea of social communication. Words were seeds, after all; it only takes a few whispers and suddenly you have a whole galactic resistance to deal with that would make the rebels in _Star Wars_ blush. Rick's handlers that led him to his prison cube were the last time he'd seen any Gromflomites face to face. In their stead, they sent drones to serve as active guards. Floating around, constantly buzzing like flies over and under and all around Rick's head. If one thing was a hair out of place, a reaction from that pesky little free will thing, and a drone would be on your ass faster than you could utter the words "I'm sorry". Talking, trying to break free, even sleeping too long—all prohibited. But there were always flaws in the picture. The drones broke down easily, sometimes just falling straight down into the abyss before him and never to be heard from again. The absence of words was soon filled with the various sparking, clanking, and humming from broken drones desperately trying to make it to the repair stations before they met a similar fate.

Pathetic, really. Rick had built better drones with a toaster, five bobby pins, and the grease off his left elbow. But he couldn't anymore; not when he was trapped in some Federation prison light years away from his home and family. Strapped onto a wall and lined up with thousands of other aliens like they were cereal boxes on a grocery store shelf.

The place where the needle was inserted into his arm was starting to itch. Rick gritted his teeth and endured it like he'd done for the last several days, all previous efforts to scratch at it in vain. Or was it weeks? Months? A year, perhaps? Hell, he'd never know. Time was relative here, too; it always moved but never seemed to. Caught it some perpetual suspension.

The thing that ticked him off the most about the whole situation was just the complete uncertainty of it all. Rick hated a lot of things, but he _despised_ being so uncertain all the time. Not knowing when his next round of supplements would come. Not knowing the next time he'd get interrogated. Not even knowing the fucking day. He inferred pretty quickly that that was the point. Try to get the prisoners as confused and defeated as possible. Let them rot themselves out until they were nothing but hollow chambers where life once had existed.

Vegetables with skin was definitely an accurate term here. Rick, looking to the cellmates across the expanse, noticed how a few of them had gone limp and unresponsive. When the drones came around and poked them with their daily supplements, they just flopped uselessly like dead fish. But they weren't dead—not in body, at least. Broken was, again, the more accurate term. The Federation would never be the cause of someone's death in a physical sense; they held themselves too high for that. They thought killing lesser species was a mercy, but terrorists were another story. They couldn't be inhumane, not too much. Let themselves get hung on their own noose was the idea, then sweep in and clean it up, no mess involved, the blood on the back of their hands so they'd never have to reveal it when they showed their palms to rest of the universe.

When prisoners had met their ends, be it from death or from fragmented states of mind, the Federation decided that the best way to dispose of them would be the simple way: gravity. An option, in Rick's mind, that was the coward's choice. Whoever was the mastermind behind this system would press a button and the person was disposed of. The bindings around their neck and wrists and ankles would release and they would just fall. Plummet into the darkness. Rick had seen it a few times and his gut still clenched when he pictured it.

Clean. Harmless. Simple.

_Just don't think about it._

Ha. Easier said than done.

With no stimulation of the body, that left stimulation of the mind as Rick's sole option. There was a reason he locked that thing up and threw away the key time and time again over the past several decades. Keeping all the shit he'd seen at bay was a job that could only be accomplished with copious amounts of alcohol. It was just easier to stuff all your demons down under an ocean of liquor and surround it with a wall of cynicism like it was some creature that needed to be contained. Of course, that was made all the harder in maximum security—apparently ethanol wasn't on the Federation's list of required supplements.

Going cold turkey had been interesting, to say the least. Almost like one last experiment, one final hurrah. Rick couldn't remember the last time he'd gone so long without a drink. Twenty years, probably, if he thought long and hard about it. A part of him knew that one of the reasons he kept drinking was because he was terrified of what would happen should he stop, and needless to say, Rick wasn't let down.

First came the headaches, which in and of themselves were easy enough to endure. A splitting pain between the eyes was hardly the worst thing he'd endured in his life; years and years of hangovers had let him built up tolerance.

But when he started to hear the voices, that was when things went downhill.

They pooled together, echoing through the prison like wind chimes, their only purpose to cause him misery. Beth, Morty, Summer, Birdperson, Squanchy. Others he didn't know and never would. Ghosts of his past or some bullshit like that. He heard them all, sometimes at once, others at various times, all of them screaming. They were sorrowful, mournful, furious, terrified, pained, tortured. They knocked and bounced around in his skull, desperate to spill out into the air.

The hallucinations brought more of the same, and none of them were pleasant. False scenes quickly dominated his hours, his days, even his dreams. Darkness bombarded Rick's vision, showing plenty of scenarios he never wanted to see, scenarios he never even thought he'd be scared of. Summer getting torn apart by aliens. Squanchy getting riddled with bullets. Beth shuddering and crying, bottles of wine littering the space around her.

Birdperson getting shot, over and over and over and over.

Morty lying on the ground, dead. Guts hanging out, eyes open and glassy and wide, the final traces of words on his lips that were never spoken. A cry for help, a plea for his grandfather to save him. And Rick would try, but he was always held back, restrained against a wall like the prisoner he was. He might have yelled out in his mind as tried to twist free. It did nothing, however, because he was still stuck for the rest of his days, trapped here in some fucking prison.

It came to a point where he was happy to be interrogated if it meant that he actually got some form of relief from the fucking hallucinations. They'd come in carrier ships and approach his prison cube, lowering it off the wall and carrying it to one of the interrogation chambers where he was dropped in and left there. Sometimes, an eternity would pass before they'd start to try and break him. The Federation sent drones, cyborgs, androids, that sort of thing. But never people. Instead, questions were demanded through an intercom. Where was the council of Ricks? What were the materials that made up his portal gun? Who was still in the rebellion and what were they planning?

If they would bother to send someone with an actual body, then maybe Rick would feel obliged to answer, so he kept his stony silence throughout it all. It was the only form of entertainment that he managed to get for a while, listening to the person on the other end of that microphone get increasingly more frustrated with each passing question he refused to answer.

It didn't matter anyway. Rick was sure that the Federation was still going to torture him even if he spilled every dirty secret he'd accumulated over the past forty years. He just hoped that the experiences had been fucking cathartic enough for the lot of them.

Through it all, through the interrogations and the torture and the withdrawals and the endless, endless feeling of bleakness his surroundings had to offer, Rick stubbornly clung to life, a fucking tick in the Federation's furry ass. His body had grown frail and brittle from disuse, so much so that standing would probably snap his spine in two, and that was a best case scenario. There wasn't really a point anymore, was there? But Rick Sanchez was nothing if not a spiteful piece of shit. The longer he kept himself alive, the longer he could be the most annoying thorn in the Federation's side.

And the longer his family would be safe.

That thought would pop up occasionally, but Rick would shove it back down each time, because that was the worst memory of all. Each thought, each urge to speak, was always countered by one truth that he knew in this God-forsaken place; the Federation lies.

A loud hum was starting to fill the air, and a few drones began to scatter. Huh, speak of the devil.

The transport ship approached Rick's prison cube as if approaching a wild animal penned in it's cage, sliding its prongs into the sides to unhook him off the wall, and off they went.

The process was the same. Rick would be dragged through the prison only able to see the retreating path as they weaved their way in and out of the rows of prisoners. The path returned them to the front of the maximum security section, he inferred pretty quickly, but never back through it. Instead, the ship would descend, bringing his prison cube into a small box through the retractable roof that would shut as soon as he was in place, leaving him in a perpetual darkness.

When the fluorescents were turned on above him, that was when he knew they were coming. A red tint in them would cast an eerie light over the floor, the TV monitor and the lone table before him. And he'd sit. And wait. Preparing himself for another hour of the universe's most annoying fan boys.

The door opened after a while and, much to Rick's surprise, a woman stepped inside his holding cell. She looked human enough, mid forties maybe, dressed business formal with her long pencil skirt and her thin blazer and her graying brown hair. Rick's brain buzzed with confusion until he remembered Summer's fucking narc friend who'd posed as a ditzy teenage girl. Seemed more and more likely the Federation had seeds planted on Earth long before the wedding fiasco.

"Mr. Sanchez, I presume?" her voice was light and airy, but there was still an edge to it. A sharpness that threatened worse things than she was promising. "I've been eager to meet you face to face. You're quite the talk among the higher ups."

Rick furrowed his brows and held his tongue as the woman placed a briefcase on the table and drew out some files. "Not much of a talker today, Mr. Sanchez?" she teased him. In retrospect, it sounded more like a taunt. "That's fine. I'm sure that after our session, you'll have more than enough to say."

Rick couldn't help but quirk an eyebrow. The Federation woman laughed.

Don't worry, Mr. Sanchez, it's nothing like that," she assured him, her voice full of anticipation. From her briefcase, she produced a tape. "This is footage we've gathered recently that may seem to concern you," her smile was wide. Rick could count each of her disgustingly white teeth. She pushed the tape into the TV monitor, perhaps a little too eagerly. "Let's watch."

The Federation agent turned on the screen to reveal a snowy landscape. Dead Gromflomites lay all around, some of whom were still twitching, and they were all bleeding so heavily that the snow could have fallen blue instead of white. In the background, there was a small log cabin that seemed eerily familiar to Rick, though for the life of him he couldn't put his finger on it.

"We recorded this after an attack on our scouting ships. They were tracking someone when we found some peculiar footage," came the woman's explanation. With a swipe of her hand, the surveillance began to play.

The door opened promptly and a figure stepped out. It was wearing mostly black, with a heavy coat and thick boots. The figure hesitated for a second, but recovered enough to hop off the porch to the gruesome scene before them. They bent down and picked up a fallen laser rifle. When they turned to pick up another one nearby, Rick caught a sight of deep red hair tucked into a ponytail, and his heart did a somersault in his chest.

"Your granddaughter, right?" the Federation woman pressed on, sounding like she was barely keeping a hold on her giddiness. "We found her here in what you call Colorado, with another wanted fugitive and what appears to be her younger sibling. We're still confirming this, however."

Son of a bitch, Summer, what the hell had you and Morty gotten yourselves roped into? Despite his irritations, Rick kept his mouth shut and his face even, wondering where this little interrogation was going.

With a shrug, the agent waved her hand again and the recordings took on a new scene. The log cabin had now been blasted with gunfire and the small windows were shattered. A surge of Gromflomites were converging on the house, ready to seize it. There was no sound in the video, so Rick let his mind fill in the quiet. A gun poked its way through one of the shattered windows and fired a few shots. One or two Gromflomites fell but they forced the door open in the end. They dragged a man out, kicking and screaming mutely, looking like he was still ready to put up a fight.

One of the Gromflomites raised it's claws in a signal.

And then the house was on fire.

Rick didn't see what fired or how much. He guessed he just blocked it out, maybe he turned away. But suddenly the cabin was obliterated, leaving nothing but a pile of toothpicks and a pitiful campfire. Someone must've been screaming, probably the man they dragged out. His mouth was opening wordlessly and he was trying to break free but the Federation's goons had a tight hold on him. The Gromflomites raised their arms and weapons in victory. Rick felt the color slowly drain from his face.

"Mr. Sanchez, I'm sorry to report," the Federation agent didn't sound sorry at all. "but your grandchildren didn't survive the blast."

It was like someone had shot Rick in the stomach again.

"We recovered their bodies after the fires had died."

_The Federation lies._

"We've sent reports and apologies to Mr. and Mrs. Smith."

_The Federation lies._

"We offer our sincerest condolences."

_The Federation always fucking lies._

"You think I give a shit?" Rick snapped after a moment, stopping the Federation bitch dead in her words.

"I…I'm sorry?"

She blinked; through all the whirlwinds of turmoil going through his mind, Rick felt that tiny, distinct prick of satisfaction. "I said, do you think I give a shit?" he repeated. "All my grandchildren were to me were fucking useless pains in my ass, one of them too bitchy to take anything the way it was and the other too dumb to realize that everything we did could have, would have, and should have resulted in his death. God forbid a man could get some fucking peace without two worthless teenagers tailing around behind me like they were lost fucking puppies. It was only a matter of time before they got themselves killed and the only thing I regret is that I wasn't there to see it happen and laugh when the dust that originally was their sorry asses got blown into the wind. So if you think I give a shit, then you're going to have to try a lot harder. Maybe find something I actually care about."

Each word was squeezed out of Rick by force. Conflicting emotions clashed in his mind, those of false bitterness and very, very real grief, and for a moment he thought that somehow they had gotten mixed up on his face. The expression he gave the Federation bitch must've been the right one, however, because there was no mistaking her look of pure revulsion. "You…but you take your grandson with you to hide your brain waves from us," she countered, voice quivering with uncertainty. "You're telling us you didn't make any emotional attachment to your grandson?"

Weakest rebuttal ever. Rick would have laughed in the face of devastation, but he wasn't in the mood to entertain her anymore. "This isn't biology; I didn't imprint on the fucking kid. He is a _tool_. You said it yourself. The boy is and always will…always would have been a human shield. Why else do you think I dragged him along? I'll tell you why; so other beasts would have something to chew on while I escaped. Ever think of that?"

The expression on her face said it all. She looked so disgusted with Rick that she turned around and practically flew out of the room, slamming the door behind her, leaving Rick strangling on his own thoughts and fears.

His eyes flew over to the small camera in the upper corners. The green light was blinking down at him, as if it too were watching him curiously. Those fuckers were still monitoring his every move, waiting to see if he was going to break down. Rick's fingers curled into his palms and out again, an effort to calm himself down again until he could be placed back on his row where he could think in solitude.

The Federation bitch entered his room once a few minutes had passed, desperately trying to recompose herself. She tucked a graying piece of hair behind her ears and gave him a hard stare. "You're a monster, Mr. Sanchez," she told him, sounding choked up.

_Tell me something I don't know._ "Bite me" he spat.

And then the roof was opening again. The sound of a carrier ship filled the space around them, severing the connection. With a metallic clang, Rick Sanchez began to ascend back into the air. He held the gaze of the Federation bitch the entire way out until the roof closed before him. Only when he was in the privacy of his own thoughts would he allow himself to close his eyes and reflect.

The way back was over with way sooner than he'd expected. It wasn't long before he was plugged back into his place on the wall, listening as the carrier ship zoomed away. Pretty soon, he was wrapped up once more in silence, and Rick allowed himself a moment of respite. To breathe and collect himself. And with it, the weight of the situation came crashing back down until he thought his shoulders were going to snap.

They were dead.

They were dead.

God fucking damnit, they were both fucking dead. Both of his dumb, stupid grandkids were dead because of the fucking Federation. And here he was, powerless to intervene through the whole thing. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, _oh fuck_.

_Tap tap tap tap._

Rick gritted his teeth. He wished that this annoying sound, whatever the hell it was, would stop. He wanted noise, true, but Rick yearned for conversation. Real human interaction. Not white noise that was akin to static.

_Tap tap tap tap._

There it was again. A tap, a drag, three more taps, another drag. There was a sort of rhythm to it, almost like…

_Tap tap tap tap._

Shit.

In a flash, the gears of his head began to creak again, sparks of stimulation creating coherent thoughts for the first time in months. Rick tried to recall everything he knew about Morse Code. The memories were dusted, a little faded perhaps, but he could work with it. He waited for the rhythm to start up again, and tried to piece each letter together.

_R…I…C…K…Rick._

Huh. Easy enough. At least Rick knew that the message was for him.

There was very little room for Rick to move, aside from his hands, fingers, and a small space for the neck. Rick could only twist so far, but that didn't stop him from giving the walls a quick glance around. The sounds seemed to be coming from his right, just across from him. He scanned the walls intently, trying to see who would know him. He found that while he recognized most of the species here, he couldn't pin down any single being that he knew personally. But on the third row above him, about seven inmates to the right, Rick finally saw his mystery conversational partner.

It was the man from the screen, the one the Gromflomites had dragged out. He was human, so he stuck out like a sore thumb amidst the different colors, limbs, and sizes of their alien prison mates. He was so far away that Rick couldn't really make out much of him, yet what he could see told him everything. Tall, maybe six foot five-ish at his best guess. A shadow of a former beard that had been shaved recently to keep up with prison regulations. He had cropped black hair that was quickly graying and a scar over the right cheek. General Weisenhurt, in the flesh, after almost ten years. Rick would have laughed had he found the situation even the slightest bit amusing (or if he could get away with it without attracting a drone). Instead, he tapped out a quick greeting.

_Hola, General. Welcome to hell._

The silence of the prison made the sound of the taps carry over the entire gap. Rick was sure Weisenhurt could've been on the other side of the building and he still would have heard the code. To his right, the Lomthorpling groaned in subdued agony. To his left, the Jequilthian was breathing heavy with sleep. Rick paused for a moment, holding his breath to see if a drone was buzzing its way over, but nothing ever came.

There was another message coming through again. Rick strained as far as his bindings would allow, trying to pick out the coded words.

_Heard you got yourself into a scrape. Feds finally caught up with you?_

For the first time in a long time, and despite how distraught he felt, Rick nearly forced out a laugh. A lifetime's worth of memories began to well upwards. But he could sort through that pissshit later.

_You could say that._ _Bureaucrats_ _don't catch up with me unless I want them to._

Rick caught movement from Weisenhurt. A jerk of the head, it appeared to be. He wondered if the general was laughing, for some odd reason. Maybe it was the feeling of familiarity. That acknowledgement that you weren't really alone here anymore. For now, at least.

_You're just as arrogant as you were ten years ago. How was Earth treating you?_

Rick allowed himself a moment to stifle his pang of confusion. _How did you know I came back?_

A pause.

_Kids told me._

Rick froze.

Weisenhurt's eyes burned into his head, waiting for the next response, but Rick refused to continue, allowing himself to process it. The memories were still far too fresh in his mind. He wondered briefly if when he slept he'd dream of snow and explosions and Gromflomites. Of Morty and Summer now charred and burned like bad barbeque. Probably be a welcome change, if he really thought about it.

In the absence of a response, Weisenhurt persisted. _They spoke fondly of you. For some reason. They will be here soon._

Rick bowed his head. _Too late_ , he tapped at last. _Kids dead. Blown up when they found you._

The silence that followed was the most agonizing silence over Rick's time in prison. He thought he was going to go crazy over the course of those six seconds, lost within the void of whatever hellhole the Federation was trying to make him fall in.

And then…

_Not dead._

His breath got caught in his throat. They're not dead. What was he saying? They're not dead. Had he heard that right? They're not dead. They were still out there trying to find him. They're not dead. They're not dead. They're not dead. His heart began to beat faster at the sound of it, so much so that Rick imagined the heart monitor against the back of his prison cube was getting quite the workout. He tapped out a flurry of question marks, demanding answers. Weisenhurt's response was long and drawn out.

_Came four days before they got me. Sent them away next morning._

_Where?_ Rick hoped that his desperation couldn't be conveyed through taps against a block of cold metal.

_FR-_

Fronulen galaxy. Not Rick's first choice of sending two inexperienced kids on the run from the Feds, but certainly not a bad one. That galaxy was home to several dozen collections of dwarf planets, most of them inhospitable or barren, or both. The Federation never set their sights there, mostly because they had nothing to offer and even less people to conquer. There was no fun in taking over planets they could never use.

_-0284_

FR-0284. Rick knew that one, and it took him a moment to recall which one it was. It must've been the moon off of FR-4839. Nothing but snow and ice twenty-four seven. No cities, no indigenous species. Nothing but a few colonized holes in the ground. It wasn't any colder than Minnesota at this time of year, so that was good. He'd holed up there himself for a few months when he was younger and fighting with the rebellion. Out reaches, too. The Federation would overturn every rock on the northern sides of the Vertion systems before they'd even think about looking there.

The tension that Rick felt building up in his shoulders dissipated, leaving him weaker than he'd felt in a long time. He would have said more had a drone not rounded the corner and turned its lights and sensors to his wall. He shot one more glance to Weisenhurt, considering tapping out a warning, but the general seemed to have sensed the danger for himself and kept his fingers and opinions to himself for once.

One side of him felt relief, the other dread. Morty and Summer were coming to rescue him like the dumbasses they were. They still had a long way to go, that was for sure. The mere fact that they found his old gunrunning partner (how they did was beyond Rick) was commendable enough. Well, he hoped they had their fun, because they were about to shoot straight to the top of the most wanted list faster than a Bin Laden-Zodiac Killer power couple.

_The Federation lies._

Humph.

Fuck the Federation.

How desperate were the Galactic Federation, the biggest power in the whole universe, that they needed to outright lie and hit him in his sore spots in order to get information out of him? It was almost pitiful, in a way. In a sick, demented, respectable sort of way. Rick, the most notorious and elusive criminal of the Federation for the last thirty-some years, was in fucking prison and still the biggest pain in their ass. The Federation was so frantic to complete their plans that they'd go through hell and back to fabricate a story to say that his grandchildren were dead. Which was only thwarted by Morty's idiocy and Summer's stubbornness.

Mission fucking accomplished, right?

And this time, Rick Sanchez chuckled for real as he pressed up against the cold hard metal of his prison, a promise held behind a curled lip and a disgusted smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be completely honest, this is the most fun I've had writing in a very long time. I love writing from Rick's perspective (I've done it before in some of my older fics), and this was a super fun chance to practice with character analysis. Unfortunately, this only makes me want to write more Rick chapters, and I probably will. I have some things in mind, but they'll be few and far between. I just thought this would be fitting given the recent few chapters.
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading and please review if you enjoyed!


	11. You've Met Me at a Very Strange Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thanks for all the reviews and kudos!
> 
> Again, a dialogue heavy chapter, which meant some massive writers block. How long has it been, a month? Well, hopefully the next chapter won't take too long either. The good news is ideas have been coming back to me at a much more rapid pace and I think I have enough to fill at least 90% of the story as we speak. Getting there is what's going to be the hard part...
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy!

"Morty?"

_Ugh._

"Morty, wake up."

Consciousness came to him much faster than he felt necessary, a dose of harsh reality for his frazzled senses. Feeling like he'd been pulled out of deep water, Morty wrenched his eyes open.

In the dim light of the doorway stood Yhlari. Her purple eyes pierced through the brightness, eyeing him humorously with one brow raised. White hair bled into the light around her, making half of her head disappear. It was startling enough that Morty bolted straight up out of bed and nearly slammed his head into the shelf above him.

"Good morning," even her tone was teasing, a faint smirk gracing her lips as she watched him fumble in the semi-darkness. "Get yourself ready. We've got a long day ahead of us."

Morty groaned and rubbed his head irritably, ignoring the more obvious questions that were popping into his head. "What time is i-it?" he grumbled, fishing around for his phone.

"You tell me," Yhlari responded. He could just picture the smug grin on her face as she gave him her response.

The bright lights of his lock screen gave him a much more annoying answer. "It's, l-like, three thirty in the morning," Morty groaned, fighting the sweet temptation to roll over and ignore her. "L-let me sleep. I'm t-tired."

"No chance," came the alien's response. Morty was nearly blinded for a third time when she hit the control panel and the aging fluorescents came on. Yelping like a startled kitten, Morty dove back under his sheets as Yhlari continued. "You've got a lot of work to do before you can even think about taking on the Federation. What, you think your grandfather managed to stay hidden without learning even the basics of self defense?"

"I c-can shoot a g-gun," Morty's voice was muffled as he buried his head in his pillow in an attempt to spare his eyes from certain death by frying from the lights.

"You canshoot a gun, yes, but can you fight?" came the correction. "Firing a rifle can only get you so far when an enemy is right on top of you. Do you know vital areas, and can you hit them when you need to? You think you can take off a few arms and call yourself a fighter?"

It took all of his self restraint not to fire back a sarcastic "yes" or something worse a la his grandfather

"I-I'll be there i-in ten," he finally relented with a sigh.

"Make it five," Yhlari ordered, and she finally stepped out, closing the door behind her. She didn't bother to turn the lights off.

-X-

The time they'd spent in their new home had been a blur, to say the least.

For the precious few days they'd been at the bunker, Yhlari had kept her distance. Her ushering Morty into his new room was the last he'd seen of her, and it was almost enough to make him wonder if she had even existed at all. Like her presence was some joint hallucination conjured up by the two of them from lack of sleep or lack of food or a weird new gas in the atmosphere or whatever. It was disconcerting at first, her letting Morty and Summer have free reign of the bunker, to let them go where they pleased without a care in the world if they stumbled into something they probably shouldn't.

The two siblings met each other early the morning after their arrival, blinking sleep out of their eyes and exchanging weary pleasantries before quietly retracing their path back to the main room where the hologram map was. On the big conference table, clean clothes had been laid out for the two of them in their respective sizes. For Summer, she'd gotten slim-fitting pants with large pockets and a black tank top. Morty had received a pair of thick yet flexible pants of his own and a black shirt similar to his favorite yellow one. Respective belts and shoes had been set aside for each of them—a thin black belt with hooks for holsters and a pair of black boots that were much sturdier than his flimsy snow boots.

"Should w-we go and find her?" Morty remembered asking as he changed out of his old outfit and tugged on his new one. Both he and Summer claimed opposite sides of the room and turned their backs to each other.

"Why?" came her response.

"Well, we c-can't just snoop a-around. It's impolite."

Summer scoffed audibly from across the room. "God, Morty, any more of you being a goody two shoes and John Newberry will be knocking at the door begging to take notes."

"I …t-the hell does that e-even mean?"

"You'll learn about it in your junior year. Listen, I think we should just, you know, take a few looks around and see exactly what we're up against. She's not here; it won't hurt."

Morty grimaced while he laced up his boots. "J-jeez, Summer, it's not like she's an en-enemy. Yhlari's a friend…I-I think. Stop being s-so paranoid."

"What you call paranoia, I call curiosity. It's not like taking a look around wi-Jesus Morty, turn the fuck around!" Summer's voice became shrill as she covered her front with her jacket. "I'm not done yet, you little shitstain!"

As Morty spun around again, burning ear to ear from indignity, his sister recommenced her speech with a prick of irritation. "Look, all I'm telling you is that what she won't know won't kill her. Besides, she didn't say we _couldn't_ look around for ourselves. Tell me you aren't even a little interested about what's really down here."

And there lay the root of the problem, because Morty _was_ interested. Hell, he was dying to figure out whatever Yhlari didn't want them to know, if there was anything even like that down here in this tiny bunker in the corner of the galaxy. But Morty, for all of his desires, had enough self-restraint to not go tiptoeing through the night into the halls and descend into the icy secrets that the Federation and the rebellion had in their pockets. For one, he wasn't sure if he would like what he found, nor if he would believe it. That hardware was pinging again, a constant aching reminder to be wary, be careful, be smart. And two, if Yhlari had figured out what was going on, and if she was unhappy or angry, then he and Summer could lose one of the only allies they had in the entire galaxy. Being in a position where the whole universe was quite literally against you meant that you couldn't really pick and choose your friends.

But damnit, even Morty couldn't argue that Summer's words were like an exquisite garnish on top of an already succulent-looking desert.

It was the same old story, Morty trailing after Summer as she led them through the iced over halls of the bunker in search of something worthwhile. His sister moved with such confidence that one would think they'd lived there their entire lives—that they'd grown up like this, living in one bunker. Maybe another. Hopping from planet to planet. Nursing their own anger against the Federation by defying their rule instead of hiding away. But no, they were greenies in every sense of the word.

The first place of interest they stumbled upon was the mess hall, though one would never guess it's purpose from the looks of it. The darkness was perpetual, as the lights were broken, so Morty could only make out so much. Far from looking like a cafeteria, it instead looked like the place of a Mexican standoff. Tables had been set up on their sides as barricades, scorched from blaster fire. Several orbs lay scattered on the ground, and Morty considered the possibility if they were explosive or not. The room smelled awful, a decayed musk clinging to the place like an old, stubborn tomcat. Across the room, behind one of the other overturned tables, was what appeared to be a clawed hand splayed on the ground. Upon seeing it for the first time, a chill shot up Morty's back and he turned away into the adjacent kitchen as fast as he could. Summer followed suit, and it only took one look on her face to tell that she'd seen the same. A mutual understanding came over the two of them. But clearly neither of them were feeling too comfortable with it, because a conversation never came.

The adjacent kitchen was nothing but a wall of cupboards on one side and a line of alien cooking devices on the other. As Morty investigated the new machinery, Summer opened the pantry.

As Morty futilely pressed each on switch in the hopes they would activate, he could hear his sister let out a grunt of smug triumph and slam something on the table. A sealed package with what appeared to be meat strips inside. Morty had to grab his stomach to keep it from rumbling, but it didn't stop the inside of his mouth from watering as his stared, quite literally hungrily, at it. Summer eyed it too as she set it down, green eyes alight with the opportunity.

The prospect of eating beans for a month wasn't really something that had appealed to Morty in the slightest. His mouth was already watering as Summer tore the bag open and passed him a piece with a joking "here you go, Pavlov," and a smirk at his eagerness.

The meat strips were salted, tough, and tasted like the hide from an aged cow that had probably spent too much of it's lifespan living out in the sun.

Morty immediately decided that it was the best thing he'd ever eaten in his life.

Side by side they went again, determinately gnawing on meat strip after meat strip as they wandered through the empty corridors of the bunker. Their footsteps reverberated around them, the sounds running ahead until they returned twice as loud and scaring the two siblings out of their skins. As he matched his sister step for step, shoving food into his mouth like his life depended on it, Morty couldn't help but feel…something. He didn't really know what, though. Familiarity, in some sense? A tad bit of comfort, just to know that he and Summer could still come to mutual understandings and be a team. A team without it's third wheel, perhaps, but hell, it's not impossible to ride a motorcycle or a bicycle, right?

The more they walked, the deeper the bunker went. It became the day's routine, beginning with a meal at the mess hall of whatever editable thing they could find and ending with a shower and a good night's sleep. Each day brought something new, a break in the path or a few doors that were put aside for later. It was as simple as a glance now; we can do that tomorrow, no need to rush, no need to panic.

Summer and Morty first stumbled upon what appeared to be an ancient radio booth. A lone chair sat collecting dust, surrounded by hundreds of dials and knobs and buttons. When Summer hit the lights on the control panel, dozens of multicolored bulbs flickered on and began to buzz. She yelped and quickly shut it off, and silence reigned once more. Morty suggested they returned to it when they had a better handle of the place and Summer nodded her agreement, wearing a look like she wanted to be anywhere else.

The next day brought them to what Morty guessed was a ship hanger. A room with high ceilings and wide walls and a chill so persistent it seemed to wiggle its way under their skin and sink right into the bone. Morty gawked at the high hanging hooks while Summer dug into a few spare logs she found, eventually tossing them aside in frustration when she couldn't decipher the runes.

The next day led them to a room that felt like a chute, tight and clogged, the walls on either side stacked with bookcases. If it was a library, their books were blue cubes that reminded Morty of that tesseract thing he'd seen in _The Avengers_. Most of the shelves were bare, probably ransacked in a raid. Of those that remained, Summer and Morty spent several hours trying to open or activate those that remained, but no amount of twisting, tapping, or shaking could make those damn things accessible.

It was like walking through Disneyworld, like a really, really weird version of Disneyworld. It held the same allure—that feeling of wanting to go deeper, even if you weren't sure you were going to like the next park you visited (or in this case find the decimated remains of a once-thriving alien rebellion, among other possibilities Morty didn't dare dwell on), and it was something that felt like it needed to be done.

And one morning, five days after they'd arrived on FR-0284, Summer didn't show up.

Morty waited by their usual spot of the conference table for his sister to arrive, but she never came out of her room. Figuring she must've overslept, Morty knocked on her door panel and called her name until he was certain that no one could've slept through the racket he was making. Defeated, he made his way to the mess hall, grabbed a box of something dry and resembling granola, and returned to the conference table. He spent the entire day fiddling with the broken computers, trying to get something to work if it at least meant giving his mind something to do. But it wasn't like he had any experience in mechanics, and so the computers stayed inoperable.

He didn't see Summer for the rest of the day until the clock on his phone read 8:30, and even then her appearance left him with more questions than answers. Morty turned the corner to find his sister pressing the buttons on the control panel to let her back into her own room. She held herself awkwardly, almost hunched over. A bruise was blossoming right under the strap of her tank top, and when she shifted her weight over to her other side, she winced.

"Summer?" Morty called out as he approached her.

She jolted upwards, covering her shoulder. "Oh, hey Morty."

Morty raised an eyebrow. "Are y-you okay?"

Shrug.

"Uh…d-do you want t-to talk or something?"

Another shrug.

"Summer, p-please, c-come on, what t-the hell happened?"

The door to her room slid open, and Summer stepped through it without acknowledging him. Her last words were "you'll find out about it tomorrow, asshole," before the door slammed shut again and locked tightly, leaving Morty out in the hall to wade in his own bafflement.

In retrospect, Morty wasn't really sure how he'd gotten to sleep that night with such an ominous warning as a parting gift, and now he wished he'd gone to bed earlier. Yhlari led him through the dimly lit halls as he rubbed his eyes, lamenting his lost opportunities for more rest. She went slowly, probably accommodating for his tiredness. A look or two was thrown over her shoulder, but whatever she wanted to say, she had the sense to hold her tongue.

Like a kitten following it's mother, Morty blindly trailed after Yhlari without really paying attention to where she was taking him. It wasn't somewhere he and Summer had explored yet, that was for sure. The doors that he passed lacked any kind of familiarity, and it was enough to make him wonder just how far this damn place actually sprawled under all the snow and ice.

At last, they made a final turn and Yhlari ushered him inside of a room on their right with low ceilings and wide walls. From the inside, it seemed to be a sort of weight room, with all the alien machinery and equipment pushed against the sides, leaving a broad space in the middle. Yhlari pulled off her shoes and Morty struggled to copy her example, pleasantly surprised when he put his feet on the ground and felt warm padded floors beneath them.

"This used to be a training room for the already recruited rebels," Yhlari explained as she guided him to the center of the room. "but I've pushed most of it aside so you and Summer can practice the basics of self defense."

"What a-about guns a-and that sort o-of thing?" Morty asked.

"We can work on those later," Yhlari dismissed his question with a shake of her head. "If you really want to survive out here, then you're going to need all the help you can get."

The alien went on to explain other things, but Morty found himself drifting off from the conversation. Was this something Rick had to go through? It seemed possible, and the more he thought about it, the more it made sense, another piece of the enigma falling into it's place. How else could Rick have fought off creatures that were several times the size of himself, usually with nothing but spoons or twigs or his own two fists, or—.

Why weren't his feet on the ground anymore?

His answer came in the form of his head slamming into the ground, and that was what finally snapped him out of his funk. Stars danced in his eyes, leaving his vision blurry and his mind hurtling around in his head from the whiplash. Groaning and forcing his eyes to stop rocking in their sockets, Morty found Yhlari bearing down on him, her foot on his chest and her gun pointing straight at his forehead. Her expression was mostly stern, but there was an eyebrow raised. "Do I have your attention now?"

"Y-yes," Morty couldn't help but feel his teeth chatter. "Sorry."

Yhlari snorted but did remove her foot and allow himself to stand back up with most of his dignity intact.

"Okay, first, we're going to check on your form," Yhlari instructed. "Show me your fists."

Morty, a little half-heartedly, barely got his hands raised up before the blue alien rolled her eyes and declared "wrong."

"W-why?" Morty demanded.

"Look at your hands, Morty. Do you see the placement of your thumb?" Morty glanced down, seeing how his thumb was tucked under his fingers, "You have a death grip on those things. If you punched something hard enough, you'd break your fingers before ever doing real damage."

Sighing, Morty allowed Yhlari to uncurl his hands and show him proper methods, with the thumb resting comfortably on top of his first two fingers. For a while, they did nothing punch the air around them, the alien judging his speed and power. Minutes ticked by—Morty could feel them draining away. His arms were like jelly by the time he was given permission to stop.

"Alright," at last, Yhlari finally raised her own fists, "show me what you can do to me."

Morty stared at her, looking her up and down. Opposite him, his trainer stood a few feet away, fists raised just above her chest. She shifted her weight back and forth, waiting patiently for him to make the first move. She seemed to favor her right slightly, adjusting her weight there for just a brief moment longer. Maybe a quick punch from the left would unbalance her? Morty tightened his fists, then relaxed them, readying himself for a quick strike.

A flash of blue in the corner of his eye yanked him out of his thoughts, and suddenly, Morty was flying once more.

He didn't really remember his legs going out from him, nor the brief moment of shock or the startled yell he let out that followed. All that was going through Morty's mind was that he had been knocked flat on his ass, _again_.

He landed much more painfully this time, but he also recovered much quicker. Disregarding Yhlari's outstretched hand, he pushed himself to his feet and glowered at her, seething. "What t-the hell was that for!?"

He anticipated a sharp quip from her, perhaps a laugh or a playful jab, but the eyes that met his were dead serious. "First rule of fighting;" she began, tone flat, "no hesitation."

"I w-wasn't hesitating!"

"You were looking to see which side I favored, right?" Now Yhlari was the one who looked him up and down, her hands now finding a spot on her hips. "I imagined you could see that I was favoring my right. Smart move there. It's true, I do have work that I could always use on my left side. Some old injuries die hard, let's just say. But if you could see that, why didn't you attack me? You had an opening, you even had the first move ready to go. If it was a real battle, you'd have a foot on your throat or worse."

A strange mixture of guilt and anger flooded through him. "I…I-I…"

"Look, maybe I shouldn't have asked you this," Yhlari looked away, "you're clearly not ready."

Morty felt his fingers curl inward, thumb lying overtop.

"We're both tired, so I think we should just call it a-".

For Morty, it was immensely satisfying to watch Yhlari's eyes widen as she was forced to duck under his punch.

His momentum carried him forward slightly, and he found himself skidding past the blue alien as she twisted gracefully out of his way. Regaining his footing as best as he could, Morty spun around and threw another punch, this time with his left. She ducked again, and this time Yhlari was forced to scramble back a few paces, an unreadable look on her face. They continued like this for a few moments, Morty alternating his punches and feeling somewhat pleased that his sparring partner kept retreating from him, thrown off by his sudden intensity. He didn't know what gave him such a huge rush of confidence, nor what made him decide that throwing in a kick would be a good idea.

When he raised his right leg to test his theory, he saw Yhlari smile. In that moment, only one thought popped into Morty's head:

_Oh shit_.

As his leg flew out, she sidestepped. His kick flew harmlessly past her, leaving him wide open to a sweeping kick of her own. It caught him dead in the stomach, making the air shoot out of his body like a deflating balloon. And for the third time in thirty minutes, Morty flew across the weight room and landed hard on his back, Yhlari's foot on his chest, wearing a broad smirk.

"Not bad," she praised him, eyes lively. "Not bad at all. A bit unorthodox, attacking me in the middle of my sentence, but you did catch me slightly off guard. Only slightly, though."

Morty groaned, realization slamming him much harder than the alien's foot. "You were g-goading me o-on, weren't you?"

"Guilty as charged." Yhlari laughed, stretching out a hand. This time, Morty accepted it and allowed her to drag him back up again.

They both agreed on a small break as Morty recovered from his several ass-kickings. Both of them retreated to the back wall and sat against it, not talking. As he brushed himself off, wincing, Yhlari looked him over, her gaze far-off.

"You and Summer really are your grandfather's kin; you know that?" she broke the silence. "Only Rick Sanchez would have the guts to attack an opponent so obviously provoking him. I always figured he considered it either a test of his intelligence or a mockery of it."

Morty glanced up. "What d-do you mean?"

"From when I knew him, Rick was always a 'punch first, ask questions later' kind of creature. It meant that your grandfather made…" Yhlari's face scrunched together, like she was picturing something unpleasant, "…quite a few unique first impressions."

Morty managed a laugh and a weak "y-yeah" of agreement at that. As he continued brushing himself off, a thought bloomed in his mind. "Hey, h-hey Yhlari?" he stammered. "What did e-everyone else think of R-Rick? Y-you know, b-back in the rebellion and stuff?"

The alien's eyes, if possible, became even more glazed.

"It's hard to explain. Your grandfather was…" Yhlari began, wringing her fingers, sounding like she was struggling for the right word. "Well, he was a lot of things. Rick wasn't necessarily the most likeable person in the galaxy. Hell, there was a handful of people in my own squad that couldn't stand the man."

"Could you?" Morty dared to ask.

Yhlari chuckled. "Me? I had my ups and downs over the years, I'm not going to lie. There were plenty of times that I wanted to sock the guy in the face, but I'm sure everyone who's met Rick could say the same, even you. Over time, I dare say I could even consider the man a friend. Or, well, as close of a 'friend'," she made air quotes as she told him, "as I'd ever be. Rick was really only ever close with two of us."

"Squanchy a-and Birdperson?" Morty guessed.

"I assume you've met them?"

"Err, yeah, th-they've both sorta s-saved my life," Morty confessed, tugging at the sleeve of his shirt.

"Good soldiers," Yhlari agreed. "Birdperson…erm, well, no one really new his real name. Confidentiality's sake, because I think he still had family. Story was that his home planet was overrun by the Federation, so he relocated the remainder of his species, the ones who weren't exterminated or enslaved, to Planet Squanch. There, he met Squanchy and the two of them joined the rebellion soon after. Rumor has it that Birdperson singlehandedly took Blood Ridge by himself by fighting off twenty of the Federation's best soldiers on his own. Was cleaning Gromflomite blood out of his feathers for two weeks afterwards. The molting was unbearable."

The idea of wise, soft-spoken Birdperson slaying galactic forces was something that was going to need time for Morty to digest. "What a-about Squanchy?"

"Squanches are much more of a tactical species for the rebellion. Truthfully, they're fight or flight creatures. Only really fight back if they're threatened or cornered. Their defense mechanisms are draining and can only be used for a short amount of time as a getaway." Made sense, given what Morty had seen of him. "But Squanches are also some of the most unassuming creatures in the galaxy. They look like giant cats, and they can survive in just about any condition. Squanchy was our reconnaissance man; we'd send him in on a planet for information, and he'd come back with all that and more, usually a little drunk. Squanchy and Rick had a lot of similarities and Birdperson served as their middle man. I guess they just got used to each other's company after a while."

Both of them were silent for a moment. Finally, Morty found his voice again. "Uh, h-hey, Yhlari?"

"Hm?"

"W-what happened with t-the rebellion? I-I mean, like, why d-did it disband?"

Yhlari exhaled slowly, looking down at her hands. "Your sister asked the same thing. To be completely honest, I'm not sure there's an exact reason behind it. They all sort of built upon each other. It probably started when the Federation took over Exanthorp."

"Weisenhurt m-mentioned Exanthorp too. W-what exactly i-is it?"

"It was the base of operations for the rebellion, located in the Itholartop system way far out in the outer rims of the galaxy. It was the only planet that could host life in that area, and it was in a pretty secluded part of the universe as it was, so that made it the perfect base of operations. I'd say you were probably barely two years old when it was overrun, when they found us with enough warships to blow Exanthorp into a black hole and then some." Her tone became much lower, filled with weariness. "I escaped with several of my recruits by the skins of our teeth. Rick, Weisenhurt, Squanchy, Birdperson, and a few others all made it off, but we had ten thousand rebels on that world, Morty. Barely seven hundred of us managed to make it off alive."

Hard to believe that when Morty was trying to learn fucking object permanence, a whole world was being eradicated thousands of light years away. "And then what happened?"

"Have you ever seen _Star Wars_ , Morty?"

"Have _you_?"

Yhlari smiled, but it was strained. "Rick brought several…what do you call them? VHS tapes? He brought these movies called _Star Wars_ with him and built a device so we could all watch them and laugh at the inaccuracies. Anyway, do you remember when Princess Leia's planet was destroyed and there were asteroids everywhere?"

Morty nodded.

"Well, the Federation took it a bit of a step further with Exanthorp's remains. They harvested the asteroids and sold them off to Gromflomite elites. They wore them as jewelry, hair pieces, you name it. I heard they even made houses out of them. It was like they were rubbing it in the faces of all of those in the rebellion, and for some, it was just too much to take." Yhlari's eyes grew sad, drooping a little. She ran her maimed hand through her hair. "A bunch took off for other galaxies, even though it was practically suicide to do so. Some others returned to their home planets, figuring it was better to live in fear than to not live at all. Rick, Birdperson, and Squanchy flew off to who knows where, saying they could keep out of harms way themselves. The rest of us decided to go underground. And we've been hopping planets ever since, but you already know that."

Drawing his knees into his chest, Morty averted his gaze and looked out over the training room. The air seemed to have dropped ten degrees, making him shiver. A few hundred thoughts a minute zoomed through his head as he tried to process what he'd heard. Most of it, he really couldn't comprehend, in truth. His heart ached for Yhlari, who told the story like she was reliving her worst nightmares all over again.

"Look, I'm not here to give you a sob story. I'm here to teach you how to beat the shit out of the Federation," the light-heartedness had returned to the blue alien's voice as she stood back up and held out her hand. "You're coming along well. Why don't we keep working?"

Morty hesitated for a brief moment. Yhlari caught it with a shake of her head. "Morty, I know it's a bit to process, but I hope you aren't worrying about me. I've had twelve years to come to grips with it, okay? Relax; it's not going to happen again."

"What if it d-does?" Morty couldn't help but argue. "R-Rick's in prison. T-they could…they c-could—."

"I'm going to stop you there and say that that's not going to happen," Yhlari interjected. "We're going to break him out, remember?"

Morty raised his head back up to see Yhlari's outstretched hand, an offering to stand back up again.

He grabbed it once more.

-X-

"Hey."

"H-hey. What did you d-do today?"

"Nothing much. I found this cool room with disused robots. What to check it out tomorrow?"

"M-maybe I will, but y-you have fighting t-tomorrow with Yhlari, r-remember?"

"What?"

"She told me t-to t-tell you to w-wake up early tomorrow. Y-you might want to s-set an alarm."

"Morty!"

"I-I'm going to bed. N-night, Summer."

"Morty, get the fuck back out here or I'll rip your balls off and stuff them in your ears! My shoulder's still killing me from yesterday!"

"Jeez, S-Summer, that s-sounds like your p-problem, not m-mine."

" _Morty!_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah...that ending was weird? Wanted to try something a little different and not end it on such a cheesy note (it would have ended before that scene break. Ugh. I cannot write an ending to save my fucking life).
> 
> Thanks for reading and please review if you enjoyed!


	12. House Guest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Thanks for all the reviews and kudos!
> 
> So believe it or not, the reason this chapter took so long was because I was debating on how much of it I wanted to add. Originally, the chapter was going to be a combination of two before I realized that that would be about 10k words. So I had to split it up and do it that way.
> 
> Please enjoy!

Time eventually fell into a rhythm in the bunker. Days flew in and out like wayward birds, the time moving at a snail's pace. Soon, three weeks had passed and Morty would have been none the wiser unless Summer hadn't reminded him that Jerry's birthday was right around the corner.

Compelling as it may have sounded to Morty and Summer in the beginning, the constant fighting soon began to take its toll on the two of them. Continuously getting up at the crack of dawn, working on punching and shooting until both arms felt like limp spaghetti, then getting to repeat the process less then twenty-four hours later. Even the brief day they had to rest while the other sibling took their turn did little to solve their weariness. For Morty, it felt almost like a test of his own willpower. How many times, past and present, had he been knocked hard on his ass or thrown violently to the floor? At this point, sitting down was becoming a difficult endeavor because his behind was purple from multiple encounters with the ground. Phantom bruises began to pop up on his arms that he couldn't remember getting. In some cases, he was almost positive he was fighting in his sleep, going through the motions in his subconscious state when he should have been in oblivion.

The labyrinth of the bunker began to unravel itself with each passing day. Morty and Summer, now separated from each other for most of their time, both had to steel up their courage and explore the place on their own while the other was training. It was nerve-racking, wandering the dark halls each day on his own, but it wasn't like Morty had anyone to complain to. Instead, he moved at as unhurried a pace as possible until he was convinced he would be going backwards had he gone any slower. Corridors became familiar, one by one. There was one smelled like bath soap from the leaky faucets, and another where the fans were busted and made raspy noises that scared the shit out of him the first time that he wandered down it.

There was some alien equivalent of napkins—thin, green, almost see-through sheets that unfolded into the size of his forearm—that Morty took on a hunch from the kitchen cabinets one day. It started off small, just a tiny creation to keep his mind busy. He twisted the papers into thin rolls, laying them across one of the mess hall's cleaner tables. Following another idea, Morty grabbed several discarded boxes from the cabinets and put those to use as well. An empty box of Teromalth Bites stood in place of the conference room, with napkin tubes branching off sporadically across the tabletop like nerves and arteries. Before long, a small model of what he had explored materialized in front of him, and the next thing he knew, Morty had mapped out the entire first half of the bunker with torn napkins and assorted food items. In a sense, it was validating. Helpful too. Morty could finally get a bit of sense as to just how far their new home spread: in short, way too fucking far.

Summer would eventually discover it on her own, even going as far as to give him a weary but still affectionate "good job" for his efforts. Morty didn't know if Yhlari ever found it, given her own busy schedule, but something about her seemed warmer in the coming days that followed. She seemed to point out different rooms and hallways on their way to the training room, feeding his growing curiosity. He would hang onto her every word, his exhaustion forgotten as he listened to his guide's explanations with rapt attention.

It all culminated when he and Yhlari encountered Summer entering the mess hall one night, her hair a mess as she searched for something to eat. Perhaps Yhlari felt a bit of compassion that evening, or maybe she was just hungry too, because the next thing they knew, Summer and Morty were sitting at a dark cafeteria table as something sizzled in the kitchen. The smell of food wafted through the walls—Morty didn't know what it was, and nor did he care, neither sibling making any attempt to quell their rumbling stomachs. Their trainer would return with something resembling meat and crackers, and Summer and Morty would eat hot food for the first time in a month.

The trend continued, extending down to lunch and then even to breakfast, Yhlari making sure to feed the two of them before each training session, one day even going as far to having food prepared. After several weeks of eating snack foods and hoarding as much as he could because it would never fill him up, Morty was experiencing a heaven on Earth.

The world around them began to melt after that. Training wasn't as hard after two weeks or so; Morty wasn't sure if Yhlari was lessening the hours each day or if it was just becoming easier. Each new session left him more and more tired, his sleeping hours sliced up so much that he was sure he would never experience a normal sleeping schedule again.

Morty was a light dozer to begin with thanks to all his adventures with his grandfather, so he didn't really think much of it when he awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of footsteps outside of his door.

"Yhlari?" he murmured sleepily, summoning the strength to move through the many aches in his arms and shoulders.

He was about to bury his head back in his pillow and forget about it when Morty remembered that it wasn't his day to train. He'd fallen asleep early, too exhausted to stay up after their dinner. He still could hazily recall his bleary goodnights to his sister and the alien as he trudged back to his room.

Morty bolted upright in an instant, listening. The footsteps didn't stop at the sound of his voice, and he heard them head to his left towards the deeper parts of the bunker. Morty grabbed his phone. It was two in the morning Earth time, an hour before Yhlari ever woke him up. Quickly dressing himself and trying to force down his anxiety, Morty opened the door to his room and stepped into the hallway to find it dark. The ice walls still emitted their normal blue glow, offering enough light to make out his surroundings.

_Maybe Summer was just going to the bathroom_ , Morty tried to rationalize with himself. _Maybe she's going to get food. Maybe she's just doing late night exploring on her own._

When Morty made his way to his sister's room, he checked the door's control panel to find the red light still on. It was locked from the inside, his sister probably sleeping soundly.

Cursing his bad fortune, Morty hurried back to his room and grabbed one of the laser rifles off of the wall, and then hurried back down the hall towards where he'd heard the footsteps. Gun shaking in his hand, Morty began to move.

It was slow going for a while, taking extra care to keep his stride steady and his feet quiet. The silence pressed over him until Morty felt like he was wading through it. There was no sound anymore, nothing that hinted at this mystery intruder's location, so Morty had to use a process of elimination. Well, more like a massive amount of guessing in retrospect. With all the halls he'd explored and hadn't explored yet, it wouldn't be before long before he was swimming through uncharted seas. It was essentially a real life game of Clue, but Morty was not looking forward to being bashed in the face with a candleholder.

And then, at the end of the fourth hall he turned down, he breathed easy. One of the doors was ajar, dim light streaming from it steadily. Morty calmed himself; he could swear he could hear soft voices from down the way. It was from the library room, the one with the blue cubes.

Morty whipped out his phone and texted his sister.

_[2:12 am]: Yo remember the blue cube room? Get over here now. I think someones in the bunker. Get Yhlari if you can._

Slipping his phone back into his pocket, Morty held his breath once more to see if Summer would respond. A minute ticked by, then another, and then another. Nothing. Morty sighed, halfway torn between intimidation and annoyance, and, with some hesitation, approached the ajar door.

There was no one within the first ten rows, so Morty slid inside and cocked the gun. Down the aisle he went, his breath barely making a stir in his chest as he investigated the room. But in a bare room like this, with nothing to obstruct his view, it wasn't like he had much to search through. In the distance, a figure materialized before him, bending over a few of the precious blue cubes that he and Summer of them hadn't been able to crack. Heart pounding, Morty ventured closer.

The figure in question had a wooly rad parka wrapped around scrawny shoulders, dwarfing his obviously thin frame. Under that appeared to be a white jacket, coupled with khaki pants and worn loafers. He crouched down, reaching for one of the lower shelves where the blue cubes had been stored. He appeared to be murmuring to himself, his voice low, thin, and raspy.

Morty nervously cleared his throat. "Um, h-hey!"

The figure's head snapped his way. Morty nearly dropped the gun.

"Jesus Ch- _urrp_ -christ, Morty, you w-wanna be any _–urrp—_ louder?" Rick Sanchez stood back up, a blue cube in each hand, eying him in scrutiny with an eyebrow raised in annoyance. "For f-fucks sake, it's n- _urrp_ —not like we have a-all day."

Morty just stared at him, his mind racing a mile a minute, his rifle shaking violently in his hand. Rick, meanwhile, only rolled his eyes and shoved the blue cubes into the parka.

Just then, per his wonderful luck, another figure rounded the corner behind Rick. Morty swung the gun over to it, hands trembling, and Rick followed the barrel's direction.

"H-hey R-Rick!" Morty felt himself go pale as another Morty approached the Rick, arms full of blue cubes. Everything, from his yellow shirt to his ridiculous stutter to his stupidly naïve expression, was exactly the same as himself; Morty felt like he was looking at his own reflection, "look what I f-found! Th-this is what you w-wanted, right?"

Rick didn't answer, casting one more glance back over to Morty. The second Morty peeked around his grandfather curiously. As if on some sort of cue, both of their eyes widened.

Three things happened at once. First, the Rick shoved his Morty squarely behind him and drew his gun, a snarl on his face as he blocked his terrified looking grandson from view. In retaliation, more instinct now than anything, Morty cocked his own gun and curled his finger over the trigger. Fortunately, both parties were spared from having to make a split second decision as the door slid open behind them and two sets of footsteps raced in. Behind him, Morty heard his sister's sharp intake of air.

Rick's eyes drifted past Morty, and his eyes narrowed dangerously. "S-Summer?" he growled between his stutter, his finger tightening over the trigger.

"Grandpa Rick?" Summer managed to squeak out.

A hand fell over Morty's shoulder, gently pushing him aside. "Easy, Rick," Yhlari assured the man as she moved past Morty and ventured closer. Morty chanced a quick dart to the blue alien to see that despite her easy-going tone, a hand hovered slightly near the handle of her own pistol. "Calm down. This is the Morty and Summer from C-137. This dimension."

Rick's eyes, if possible, narrowed even further into slits. "And what if you're lying?" he challenged.

"Then what the hell would we have to gain by trying to talk you down?"

From behind Rick's back, the other Morty poked his head out and stared at him, wide-eyed and fearful.

Rick still looked unconvinced, his snarl further increasing across his face as he stared Yhlari straight on. Morty felt his heart skip a beat as she dared another step forward, only to halt as the older man fired a shot of his own. Summer squealed behind him, but it appeared that Rick only fired a warning shot. It sailed far over their heads, sending sparks flying as it hit one of the bookcases in the back.

Yhlari had ducked slightly, but rose back up, her voice laced with muted fury. "Sheesh, Sanchez! Are you trying to take my head off!? Your fucking grandchildren are in the damn room; show a little restraint."

"The— _urrp—_ they're not my grandchildren," Rick snapped.

"Can we just talk things out? Please?" Yhlari implored. "Believe me, if I wanted to kill you by now, I would have done so already. So just put the gun down and let me make you a meal for your trouble."

"Your trouble?" Summer scoffed at Morty's shoulder. "Our grandfather nearly took our heads off. I'd hardly call it his trouble."

Despite a generous offer considering the homicidal tendencies on rampant display, Rick stayed static, his stance refusing to waver. Morty could just picture Yhlari rolling her eyes again. She sighed. "I have tequila from Paraten-five in the pantry."

Rick quirked an eyebrow at that. "What kind?"

"Glorptop brewery. Rustic distillery. Your favorite."

It didn't even take a moment before Rick's gun was gone from sight, safely tucked back into the folds of his lab coat. "Well, if y _—urrp—_ youinsist, then I'm not going to pass." With a bit of a rough shove from behind, his Morty flew forward past Yhlari towards the exit. "Come on M-Mor _—urrp—_ orty. Nothing screams a good adventure like e-eating cold, decaying food in an ice hole."

The other Morty groaned in response as he found his footing, awkwardly brushing past Morty and Summer, "Ugh. W-whatever, R-Rick," he muttered.

The Rick moved past the two of them next, parting the gap between them with a hard look for both siblings. With another patient sigh, Yhlari trailed after him. As the three of them exited, Summer and Morty exchanged a baffled stare before racing to catch up with them, leaving bewilderment sprouting up with every step they took.

-X-

Their meal that followed was one of the most uncomfortable experiences of Morty's life. At the Rick's request, a small contained fire was built in the center of the mess hall between two of the tables, the flames casting an angry glow over the continual darkness and sending the shadows recoiling back under the blacker parts of the room. Yhlari cooked their breakfast over it, making a meal consisting of some sort of purple vegetables and orange meats that she served in small portions. It culminated in a weird sour flavor that Morty could only manage several bites of before setting it aside. Summer soon followed his example in spite of her efforts to swallow it down. Opposite them, the other Morty also seemed to have lost his appetite, resorting to picking at his food half-heartedly as he threw glances at the two of them from across their makeshift campground. Rick had refused a meal but was nevertheless content with a refill of his flask as he sipped on it nonchalantly. Two on one side of the fire, two on the other—the situation felt more like an uneasy truce than a friendly meal. The ringing of the fired pistol still throbbed through Morty's eardrum, his itching fingers only serving as a reminder of what could have happened had someone not intervened.

Only Yhlari talked, stubbornly forcing conversation topics on the four of them like an exasperated aunt. She'd claimed a spot at the head of fire between Summer and the other Morty, throwing out questions in the hopes one of them would break the hush. The results usually yielded one-sentence answers, maybe two or three if she was lucky with their new guests. Morty felt guilty, just another emotion thrown into the melting mush of moods he'd felt over the past hour, that he couldn't offer a better answer in the hopes of a compromise. Every time he stared at the alternate version of his grandfather, he was met with cold eyes that were familiar and foreign at the same time. He hadn't had the privilege of being under Rick's analytical stare in a long time, and even back then it made his skin crawl. His courage depleted, Morty would return his eyes back to his hands and pluck at his shoelaces or wring his fingers, unable to hold his gaze.

"So," there Yhlari went again, another brave stab at a conversation, "Rick, Morty, what dimension are you from?"

The Rick grimaced but answered anyway. "C-132. The pl _—urrp—_ planets here are a-aligned differently, plus I caught wind t-that there was some valuable shit here. Decided to d-drag M-Morty along and see for myself."

C-132 Morty ducked his head, looking a touch embarrassed.

O-okay, my turn," C-132 Rick jabbed a thumb across the fire to where Morty and Summer were sitting, both of whom looked up in shock. "Those two are— _urrp —_ aren't really from C-137, are they?"

Summer's expression tightened, eyes blazing. "Don't talk about us like we aren't here."

"Yes, they are," Yhlari began cautiously, disregarding Summer's jab. "Why are you asking?"

C-132 Rick leaned back, taking another long swig from his flask. "Just c-c-interested," he defended himself. "I'm just trying to fi-figure out o-where the fu— _urrp—_ fuck C-137 is."

Morty squeezed his fingers so hard he thought he was going to break them in his palm.

Yhlari, calm as still water, continued on. "The Rick of this dimension…has been captured by the Federation," C-132 Rick's eyes suddenly widened, and C-132 Morty looked at him as if for confirmation. "Morty and Summer came here in the hopes of trying to get him back."

With dreamlike slowness, C-132 Rick capped his flask. His gaze flitted back to Morty and Summer, now resembling something close to empathy. No, not empathy; Rick never did empathy. Pity, maybe: a sickeningly comforting pity. "So, C-137 finally g-got caught, hm?" even his voice held a hit of understanding, buried somewhere under all those layers of alcohol. "C-137's a huge p-pain in the ass to every Rick in the finite c-curve, but that _—urrp—_ at's not good. Was he one of the ones who go-got screwed up in the rebellion?"

Yhlari's face was shadowed for a moment before she nodded her verification.

"Y _—urrp—_ you one of them?" C-132 Rick guessed.

Yhlari's eyes darkened. "Oh, what ever would give you that idea?"

"Whatever," C-132 Rick grunted, picking himself up and motioning to his Morty. "T-this is a lost cause. C'mon M— _urrp—_ Morty, we're going back. I've got some things in the freezer I n-need to take a look at."

And suddenly, as C-132 Morty stood up and his Rick pulled out his portal gun, a crazy idea struck Morty.

"H-hey! Wait!" Morty shot upwards, causing Summer and even Yhlari to give him strange looks. C-132 Rick did pause, fortunately, and Morty recollected his thoughts. "What a-about the council? Will they help us?"

"The council?" Summer and Yhlari asked at the same time.

C-132 Rick snorted, eying him with contempt. "Look, C-137, I don't f-fuck with the council. And word through the gr— _urrp_ —apevine is that they aren't f-f-particularly fond of you either."

"But you k-know where it is?" Morty pried, "The location, the c-coordinates?"

Rick hesitated for a moment, and then nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, I s-suppose I do."

"Then I'll g-go and talk t-to them."

C-132 Rick let out a harsh laugh; it sounded like pieces of sandpaper rubbed against each other. "If you think you could talk t-the council into saving C-137, then I'd g— _urrp_ —give up drinking. Look, M-Morty," the name, though stuttered, was spat like a curse, "the council isn't going to take kindly to some Rickless M-Morty waltzing in and b-bossing them arou— _urrp_ —ound."

"Aw jeez, R-Rick!" To Morty's surprise, C-132 Morty was the next to raise his voice, looking slightly vexed. "Can y-you stop being a dick for a second a-and just send him to the c-citadel?"

"Stay out of this M-Morty," C-132 Rick growled. "It doesn't c-concern you."

"Yes it d-does!" C-132 Morty shot back. "I'd do t-the same thing if you w-were in trouble! Do you remember the o-other Morty that came to us d-during that soap-car race?"

C-132 Rick rolled his eyes again. "M-Morty that's, like, a com— _urrp—_ completely different situation. Where's the correlation h-here?"

"All I-I'm saying is that it's not like you _can't_ send him to the citadel," C-132 Morty pointed out, "you just don't w-want to."

"Well duh, why t-the hell should I send a Morty to the council? It's not like he's g-going to go far with those di-dipshits anyway." Rick argued between sips of his flask.

Morty head was starting to hurt. Although he was grateful for his alternate version's help, hearing himself argue with Rick was starting to get grating. "Are you going to send m-me to the council or not?"

"Yes."

"No."

"R-Rick!"

"What, M-Morty? If he w— _urrp—_ ants to get to the citadel so bad, h-he can just go there himself."

"I don't k-know where it is," Morty said, "and I d-don't have a ship that can get m-me there."

C-132 Rick smirked from behind his drink. "Look at you C-137, y-you really are in deep shit. What, d-did the Federation t-take your ride? Can't g _—urrp—_ get it back?"

"Will one of you please explain what the _fuck_ is going on?" in the midst of their arguing, Summer's snarl was what brought the three of them to a grinding halt.

Morty turned to see his sister wearing the lividest expression he'd seen in a long time. His heart skipped a bit. She was fuming, and nothing good happened when she was fuming. Pushing herself off of her seat, Summer stomped towards their direction, fists clenched and lip curled. Morty braced himself for being snapped at, but his sister marched straight past him and instead settled for the alternate versions of her brother and grandfather. C-132 Rick wore an amused expression, like he was mildly interested to see where this would lead. Thus, it was extremely gratifying to watch it disintegrate as Summer began talking.

"Look, I don't know what the hell the council is," she sounded on the verge of screaming, her voice tethered but straining against the force of her will. "I can handle not knowing everything and you and Morty's adventures, okay? And clearly, nothing's changed in whatever stupid-ass universe you two are from. I get it. But by God, just fucking throw us a bone, you annoying piece of shit. Do you know how long our Rick has been gone? _Seven. Months_. Can you imagine not being with your family for seven months? Me neither. So I don't know what the hell my brother wants with this dumb council of yours, but what _I_ want is for you to use that stupid portal gun to take Morty there. And then you can fucking leave, and go back to thinking about yourself. Because you know what? At least our Rick gave a shit. At least our Rick wanted us to be safe. At least _our_ Rick put his life on the line for something other than himself. And when we bust him out of prison, with or without your help, I'm going to use that portal gun to find you guys and kick your asses so hard that they'll be hearing your screams all the way to Gazorpazorp. Do you understand me!?"

Throughout Summer's tirade, C-132 Rick seemed to shrink. It was slightly impressive, watching him almost cower under his sister's rage. Morty had never seen Rick, any Rick, look so wounded. His Morty watched him from a short distance away, looking like he wanted to speak up in his defense but not wanted to get chewed out himself. Morty couldn't really blame him, and he supposed that was the point.

When she was finished, teeth bared and nostrils flaring, Summer backed up a few paces to stand next to him as Morty looked on in astonishment. Even Yhlari looked shocked, her meal finally cast to the side as she watched the turn of events.

"Jeez, Summer," Morty managed to force out. "T-think he's had enough?"

In the few seconds of repose that Summer had given him, C-132 Rick seemed to have gathered his wits. "Y-you know what, S-Summer?" he spat, fiddling with his portal gun, "fine, okay? I-is that what you w-want? Then whate— _urrp-_ whatever. I'll send y-your dumb asses to t-the council. Have f _—urrp—_ un getting kicked o-out."

Before Morty could ask a question and clarify, Rick pointed his portal gun at the wall and pulled the trigger. A bright green portal blossomed on the wall and swirled slightly, waiting for someone to step through it. C-132 Rick then set some new coordinates and made another portal on the opposite wall. "C'mon M-Morty," he growled. "We're going home."

And without waiting for a response, C-132 Rick stuffed the portal gun back into the folds of his lab coat and stepped through the portal without as much as a goodbye. For as much of a dick as he could be, and knowing that his Rick was still the same as that one, Morty couldn't help but feel a pang of dejection at watching the old man go.

C-132 Morty lingered behind for a brief moment, looking sheepish. "Um, g-good luck," he managed to force out.

"Yeah," Morty breathed. "Thanks for all of y-your help M-, err, me."

The other Morty gave him a tentative smile before disappearing into the portal back to his own dimension. It closed behind him with a snap, leaving the other portal open on the next wall, waiting for someone to step through it.

"So, would it be worth it for me to ask what that was all about?" that was Yhlari, who had finally gotten up and joined him and Summer in the middle of the mess hall.

"P-probably not," Morty confessed.

Yhlari's lips thinned, her face stretched taunt. "I didn't think so."

"So, this council thing," Summer interjected. "Is this one of grandpa's weird inventions?"

"Um, sorta?" Morty had only ever been to the citadel one time, and even then, he was far more concerned about the shackles on his wrists and the gun-wielding Ricks pressed up against either side of him then about what life could be like there. That was over a year ago, nearly two now that he gave it some real hard thought. He could vaguely recall massive structures and floating billboards and even a blimp. There were more bars in that one place than Morty had ever seen before. The scent of stale booze hung over the place like a fog. Rick rambled during their little visit, and Morty tried to hang onto his every word if it in case meant life or death. It meant that he really didn't get the chance to take in much of his surroundings. "It's a little more difficult to e-explain than that."

"Think that we can get help from this council of yours?" her anger now having ebbed away, this was the most hopeful Summer had sounded in months.

Morty didn't answer. A part of him wanted to say yes, but that was the stupid, hopeful part of him that he'd been trying to shove down since the events of Weisenhurt and the Colorado fiasco. For how angry and cynical C-132 Rick was about the council, Morty knew in his heart that it wasn't without good reason. "I g-guess it doesn't h-hurt to try," was what he finally settled on.

Summer seemed less than satisfied with his response but didn't press him further. "Do you want me to come with?" she asked.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Yhlari chose this moment to jump in, saving Morty from having to answer her himself. "I think Morty might be able to handle this on his own for now. Do you have a way back, Morty?"

Well, not exactly unless he took the prototype, but he wasn't going to waste a limited shot just to get him home when the place was teeming with Ricks with fully-operational portal guns. There had to be _some_ Rick who was kind enough to give him a free lift back to his dimension. Morty nodded.

"Then it's settled. Besides, Summer, I have a few things I need to your help with. Some plans that need to be finalized," Yhlari was smiling now, "I need your help to work out the kinks. Morty will be fine."

Summer opened her mouth like she was going to argue, but clearly thought better of it and closed it again. Putting her hands on her hips, she turned to face her brother. "Try not to die there, okay?" she teased him, "and if you do, at least give us a call and let us know."

"Be safe," Yhlari added.

Morty nodded, approaching the portal. It hummed slightly, like all the portals did, ready for use. He wasn't exactly sure what he'd find on the other side (maybe C-132 Rick decided to be a dick and send him to a universe where humans breathed rat poison inside of oxygen—Morty certainly wouldn't put it past him), but there was a slim possibility that he could come back with an army of his grandfathers to aide him.

Taking a deep breath, Morty bunched his fists and stepped through the portal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gratuitous comic book cameos are gratuitous, I know.
> 
> Thanks for reading and please review if you enjoyed!


	13. Council 2: Council Harder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for all the kudos and reviews! And after another break, I'm back.
> 
> Finished finals, but I started my summer jobs and now that I have senior positions, I have less time and I'm always dead tired. Gonna try to be more punctual with my writing schedules but can promise nothing. I'm not stopping this story anytime soon, though.
> 
> Please enjoy!

Going through a portal was always a tricky endeavor for a kid like Morty, who had the coordination of a newborn horse on roller-skates. The portals seemed to be made of some sort of substance that clung to him, never failing to trip up his legs as he stepped through unless he was careful and aware of it. Over the years, he'd grown accustomed to it and was able to prepare himself, but Morty found that he was a little out of practice when he entered through the portal and suddenly felt himself lurch forward. Knowing what was coming, he came out on the other side with a less than dignified stumble, careening right into another body in the haste to keep his feet.

"Hey," came the unmistakable bark of another Rick, "watch where y _—urrp—_ ou're going, M-Morty."

Morty ducked his head and mumbled out a quick "sorry" as the Rick walked past, practically dragging his Morty along with him. A few more Ricks and Mortys milled around, a few giving him odd looks but most too engrossed in their daily tasks to pay him any mind. Morty was grateful for that, because his black pants and red parka stuck out like a sore thumb amongst his other yellow-shirted counterparts. The less attention he drew, the better.

The portal that C-132 Rick had made for him deposited him in a similar place to where he'd come from the first time. A place oddly decorated for his grandfather, complete with fountains and topiary and tall statues of himself (well, maybe not _that_ odd. After all, Rick did enjoy a good stroking of his ego). There weren't any signs that would lead him to the council, so Morty figured that he would just head down the main road ahead of him and hope that the memory of his footsteps would kick in eventually. Squashing down his nervousness, he began to walk through the throng of his grandfather and himself and head for the council of Ricks.

Morty had almost forgotten what the citadel of Ricks looked like. Almost like a Times Square on steroids, with floating billboards and bright lights and roads that all seemed to lead to the same direction. Buildings towered over him, their tops nearly brushing the top of the dome that kept the entire citadel contained. There was room enough for a blimp of two to float by, however, flashing advertisements of things like _Rick Locker_ and _The Home Rick-pot_. As Morty got on an escalator and ascended up a few hundred feet, he caught sight of parking lots and restaurants and apartment complexes that were obviously there for the Ricks that stayed at the citadel full-time.

The amount of Ricks and Mortys that populated the citadel startled Morty. There were versions of himself and his grandfather of every shade and shape, with some differences bouncing between confusingly small and frighteningly huge. Some changes were so large that Morty began to question what was the actual physical constant for himself across the dimensions. There was a Morty with huge muscles dressed up like a Mexican wrestler, trailing after a disappointingly mundane-looking Rick like an obedient pet. Another version of himself had a normal lower half and a fishlike upper half, complete with large eyes and fins that wiggled happily alongside his Rick. On the other hand, there were several Mortys that seemed to be virtually identical save for a few minor differences. One with shorts instead of jeans, another with a splash of freckles, and another that seemed to be left-handed rather than right.

It became interesting to look at, but something constantly nagged at the back of Morty's head and made him uneasy. The population ratio, perhaps? After all, there were plenty of Ricks without their Mortys, but there were no Mortys without their Ricks.

_Poor Rick-less bastard._

Those words were almost taunting them, so simple and yet so cruel in their structure.

His plan to stay inconspicuous wasn't working as well as he hoped it would. Through each street, around every block, Morty could feel more and more eyes fall upon him. The place had a puzzling static to it, a prick in the air that no one could miss if they tried. The sensation of stolen glances from the alternate versions of his missing grandfather burned on the back of his neck like each of them were branding him with their gazes. A craned neck or two, nearly subtle enough to miss, danced in the corners of his vision. At least they had the courtesy to not come up to him and outright demand that he explained his clearly strange circumstances.

Still, he felt exposed in some way—thrown out to the lions.

The place was jam packed with Ricks and their Mortys, so, so many of them exact carbon copies of his own. Morty's heart ached with every step, but his determination hardened too. He could feel it tightening within his chest, each passing glance only fueling his resolve.

The further Morty went, the more that he feared that he was totally and utterly lost. Each direction he took only seemed to take him further into the citadel and there was an annoying lack of signage to help him along. Every twist and turn only seemed to serve a sole purpose—to make him completely adrift inside a massive city. No wonder his grandfather didn't bother with the council, because navigating this place was hard enough as it was. He stopped outside of a building and allowed himself to catch his breath before starting back up again. Just before he was about to continue, Morty caught a whiff of something delicious and turned to look at the place he'd stopped in front of.

It wasn't much, but it looked homely. A small, circular building with glass windows for sides and a revolving door. A billboard version of himself smiled on top of the place, a wide toothy grin baring down, mechanical arm waving in a friendly yet robotic manner. The smell of fresh burgers and fries slammed into him all at once, so much so that Morty was surprised that he wasn't knocked on his ass from the force of it. In bright yellow lights, the words _The Morty Café_ blinked back down on him.

His stomach suddenly squawked, and Morty clutched it in embarrassment. Yhlari's meals were fine, but there was nothing that could compare to the decadence of fast food. It'd been weeks since he'd had something remotely Earthlike to eat.

Morty's resolve crumbled slightly, staring at the place that had appeared before him like heaven in a greasy spoon. The council could wait, couldn't they? His mind made up, Morty headed inside.

The place was packed up tight, almost wall to wall, with Mortys. About two or three dozen of them all crowded into the café together, a sea of yellow shirts and cracking voices. A bunch sat at tables or in booths, where they were waited upon by a wait staff consisting of three or four very inattentive Ricks. Several sat at the bar, where another Rick was passing out something that looked suspiciously like whiskey but also could very well have been apple juice. The place teemed with food: burgers and fries and wraps and hot dogs and omelets and cakes and pies and just about every other food Morty could have possibly liked. A few TVs lined the walls, hooked up with inter-dimensional cable channels. There was a _Ball Fondlers_ episode on at the moment—when something happened, the patrons of the café cheered and laughed in one giant voice that swelled together, almost like they were being controlled under a hive mind.

Slightly self-conscious, Morty found himself inching alongside the wall towards the back corner. There was a table of Mortys in the corner with a few extra seats open, so he quickly shuffled over there to avoid the prying eyes of his own alternative selves. Three Mortys sat around a circular table, dealing cards over discarded meals, each more different than the last. The first one would have been another copy of him had 'he' not been a 'she', complete with waist length brown hair and a surprisingly large bust (Morty couldn't help it, silently cursing his hormones for basically ogling himself). Another next to him watched him through silted eyes, whittling down a toothpick and adjusting his leather jacket before throwing down his cards in a huff. Sweeping them all up was the strangest looking version of himself Morty had seen yet. Sickly orange skin with broken shackles on his wrists and fangs curling from under his bottom lips. One glassy eye bore into him, cutting like steel. Morty felt himself begin to sweat from underneath his jacket and started to fumble with the zipper in his haste.

"Hey," the female Morty greeted him, snapping Morty out of his movements. "Wanna play?"

Blinking and nodding, Morty pulled the seat over and sat down.

As the orange Morty collected the remainder of the cards and the jacketed Morty looked away in disgust, the female Morty drummed her fingers on the table. "You okay?" she asked Morty, eyebrows furrowed in concern, "you looked kinda spooked for a moment."

Morty's eyes involuntarily fell back on the orange Morty and he let out a bewildered "uh…." In response. The female Morty only chuckled.

"Oh, him? That's just Cyclops Morty," she leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "Dimension N-023. Rumor has it that he and his Rick were deported from their dimension after they basically caused a worldwide nuclear holocaust. Now his Rick works in the Morty identification department or something."

Cyclops Morty grunted, lone eye hard as stone.

"And that's G-737 Morty, but we all call him Greaser Morty," at the mention of his name, Greaser Morty perked up, chewing thoughtfully on the end of his toothpick. "The others say that he gets to ride an actual motorcycle to school. And he says he gets to sleep with Jessica on the weekends, but I don't buy it."

"You should," Greaser Morty spoke with such an exaggerated Italian accent that Morty was positive that it could only have been faked. He wondered what alternate version of _The Sopranos_ they got in his dimension.

The female Morty passed him a pile of cards. "And I'm from dimension F-838, but you can call me Morticia. It's easier." she finished, "where are you from?"

Morty accepted the pile of playing cards and looked through them. "C-137," he told her while thumbing through the jacks and kings.

It was like someone had dropped a bomb in the middle of the café. One by one, the Mortys in the place grew silent. Mortica and Greaser Morty both placed their cards down on the table and gawked at him openly, the former with her mouth agape and the latter giving him a hard stare around his toothpick. Even Cyclops Morty looked up, his face morphing into something resembling interest. Morty felt himself grow anxious as more and more versions of himself turned to stare at him to find out what had caused the commotion.

" _You're_ C-137?" Morticia echoed in disbelief. "I…I mean, but you're a legend!"

Ever the smart one, Morty only let out an extremely intelligent "I am?"

Too caught up in her own excitement to lower her voice, Morticia rambled on. "You're the Morty that defeated the evil Rick, right? Everyone tells stories about it; about how they were too scared to fight back until you came along, and then you lead the group of us to fight! Dude, you're a living legend! The one true Morty! People still talk about it!"

A small murmur of agreement rumbled through the café. Out of the corner of his eye, Morty swore he saw someone take a picture.

"I'm n-not that…I-I mean, I just kinda s-spoke up," Morty stammered, feeling his face go red. Morticia and several other Mortys stared at him, clearly hanging onto his every word, "it wasn't really t-that cool or anything."

By now, Morty was really wishing Morticia would put a sock in it. "That cool? All the Mortys I spoke to who were there said you were like Mel Gibson or something. Except, you know, without the armies and horses, and it's not like you're Scottish or something, but you get the picture…"

She finally finished after some time, leaving Morty with a face so hot he was positive steam was pouring out of his ears. The four of them slowly gathered up their cards as the commotion started to die down. "We're playing crazy eights," Morticia told him, eying him in either awe or fear or both. "Loser subs out."

The next thirty minutes or so whizzed by, maybe because he was being given a celebrity treatment inside of a dingy resturaunt. Morty only played four rounds and in that time, people had bought him food, taken selfies with him, asked to meet their Ricks, and offered to give him tours around the citadel. One even asked him for an autograph, something that positively baffled Morty. "Aren't we kinda the same person?" he'd asked offhandedly, causing the Morty to go scarlet and mutter some vague excuse. Morty signed it anyway, just to humor him, and the other Morty ran back into the throng of their alternate selves. He felt like he was stuck in a dome, whispers surrounding him on all sides and pressing up against him, making his hair stand on end and his skin prickle. He tried to focus on his cards and failed as the tide of voices would rock up and down with each new thing that he did, no matter how dull it was.

When the door slammed open, about forty heads snapped towards the door to find a Rick standing there, looking tired and irked. The crowd fell blissfully silent for the first time in a half hour as the Rick leaned on the doorframe. "Uh…F-38-, aw f-fuck, I m— _urrp—_ mean 838. M-Morticia?"

Morticia shot her hand up. F-838 Rick grumbled something and waded through the café patrons until he came to stand at her side, eyes sharp yet lazy as he observed Morty, Greaser Morty, and Cyclops Morty. "Ready to go, Rick?" Morticia asked cheerfully.

"Uh, yeah, sure," F-838 Rick was rubbing his temples like he was falling victim to a bad hangover, to which Morticia looked on sympathetically and gave Morty an apologetic shrug. Rick muttered something fierce under his breath and sighed, "God, jury duty fuc _—urrp—_ fucking sucks. Let's just go home and work on the dexes, okay?"

"Um, h-hey, Morticia?" Morty seized his opportunity and cut across their conversation, "I sorta n-need to get to the council t-too. Do y-you know where i-it is?"

Morticia's eyes went wide with surprise. "What for?"

"It's, er, k-kinda a secret?"

Suddenly, and before Morty could get a word in edgewise, Morticia was tugging on the sleeve of her grandfather, looking ecstatic. "Hey, hey Rick! Before we go, can we please take Morty to the council? Come on, please? It'll just take a minute."

"No," F-838 Rick said firmly.

Morticia's face dropped into a pout, and she spoke in a hushed undertone as she continued to argue. "But that's _C-137_ Morty, Rick."

Rick snorted. "So? I-I don't care if he's the k _—urrp—_ ing of England. Punk can find his own way."

"It's n-not really necessary. I j-just want d-directions." Morty tried to interject, praying that their agreement wouldn't cause another rush of unwanted onlookers. However, F-838 Rick and Morticia were far too engrossed in their debate to pay him much attention.

"Come on, Rick! Can you stop being a dick for once and show him where the council is?"

"And tell me, M-Morticia, why in the fuck sh— _urrp—_ hould I do that?"

Morticia pulled a face, looking sour. "If you don't, I'll tell mom about that one time you made me and Summer perform dentistry on a Heliophliac and how I nearly got my arms ripped off. Remember that, Rick?"

"You little shit. Ugh, fine." with a jerk of the head, F-838 Rick motioned to the two of them. Morticia, unperturbed despite the quarrel, sprang up right away as F-838 Rick glared at Morty. "Come on, C-137. The council d-doesn't like _–urrp—_ late appointments and long talkers."

Without waiting, the two of them walked out, leaving Morty to sprint out of the café and try to catch up with them.

Along they went, F-838 Rick a half-step ahead of them while Morty and Morticia brought up the rear. Morticia seemed to have no limit in her excitement, pointing out various places and people that completely flew over his head. Morty would listen with one ear open; the other he saved for himself. While his alternate self prattled on about this and that, Morty quietly took in the golden statues and the cars zooming over his head.

Without warning, F-838 Rick took a sharp turn in between some pillars, leaving the two of them to scramble on over to him. As F-838 Rick led the way through what seemed like endless amounts of golden columns, he finally glanced back to Morty. "You ever been to the council, M _—urrp—_ Morty?"

In handcuffs, not that it mattered. "Once," he said, keeping it as brief as he could.

F-838 Rick grunted. "Well, a piece of a-advice, since C—C-137's not here _—urrp—_ to bail you out if you fuck up. They'll ask you why you're here, and you'll have about fifteen seconds to plead your case. Then, they'll decide w _—urrp—_ what to do with ya. Three things y-you should k _—urrp—_ know. One: don't in-interrupt them. Two: don't b _—urrp—_ backtalk them. Three: accept whatever their answer is and don't dispute it. The councils all got rods up their asses, b-but they know best."

"B-but what if I-I don't like w-what they decide f-for me?" Morty dared to ask.

F-838 Rick let out a harsh laugh. "Then joi _—urrp—_ join the club, bitch."

The three of them came upon a large set of golden doors after walking for what felt like an eternity. F-838 Rick gave Morty a jerk of the head, signaling that it was time for him to enter. Hesitantly, Morty stepped forward and put his hands on the large handles to enter the council chambers. He chanced one more look back; F-838 Rick's face was a mask of understandable irritation but also a sobering pity, like he knew something he wasn't sharing. Morticia looked far more concerned, but quickly put on a brave face as he looked her way. She smiled and gave him a thumbs up, mouthing "good luck" to him as he stood there. Turning back, Morty steeled up his courage and threw the doors open, entering the chamber.

He hadn't realized how late it had gotten, because sunset streamed through the large windows and nearly blinded him. The chamber was a massive circular room, with a large six-man podium at it's head. On both sides of it were Ricks and Mortys that Morty supposed were serving on jury. They seemed to be on break or getting ready to leave, as the Ricks were split into small conversational groups and a bunch of Mortys had gathered under the lone tree in the chamber to share news. All heads snapped in his direction, including those at the podium. There was a fumbling and a grumbling as flasks were stowed and hair was straightened and places were reclaimed. Six plaques shone in the dying light with their names: Rick Prime, Quantum Rick, Maximus Rickimus, Zeta Alpha Rick, Ricktiminus Sancheziminus, and Riq VI.

The one named Rick Prime was the first to speak. "Jesus, another late appointment. You ask for one eight-hour work day and people waltz in like they're the fucking wedding crashers." The other council members nodded in agreement. "Alright, lets get this over with. State your name and dimension number for the council."

Again, seemed kinda illogical, but F-838 Rick's words were still lodged in the back of his head. "M-my name is Morty Smith, f-from dimension C-137."

At the mention of C-137, a bunch of Mortys perked up and gave him excited looks. Even some of the Ricks looked impressed.

"Where's your Rick, C-137?" Zeta Alpha Rick demanded.

"That's kinda w-what I'm here for," it was hard to tell how formal he should be. They were Ricks, after all. "I'd like…I m-mean, I need to plead to the council for help."

The council put their heads together for a moment before returning their attention back to him. "Very well," said Ricktiminus Sancheziminus, "what say you, C-137?"

_Fifteen seconds,_ Morty thought. "I-I, um, m-my Rick was captured by the G-Galactic Federation about eight m-months ago," that at least elicited some mildly perturbed expressions from the jury, though the council kept their stony silence, "and I've been o-off-planet, trying to break h-him out. My si-sister and I, well…w-we would like t-to ask for your help."

To his relief, the council seemed to accept his statement. They turned to look at each other thoughtfully, and the Rick and Morty jury below whispered their own thoughts to each other in hushed undertones. Morty stood placidly, waiting for their decision.

At last, the council turned back to him. "And what of your dimension? Of C-137?" asked Quantum Rick.

For a moment, Morty was confused. "I, um, I-I don't understand, r-really."

"Your dimension," Rick Prime pressed him. "Is it safe? Or is it totally fucked? Give us an answer, or-"

"I-I still do-."

"Don't interrupt us," Riq VI snapped, causing Morty to jump. The other Ricks glowered at him, and sweat ran down his back and made the ski jacket stick uncomfortably to his back. _Strike one_ , he thought to himself. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Morty continued on, trying his best to make it seem like nothing had happened.

"I, um, I-I think that t-the…my dimension's going to be in a-a lot of d-danger if something d-doesn't happen," he managed to stammer out, his mouth dry.

Again, the council of Ricks pressed their heads together and talked amongst themselves. The jury, as if connected on the same lifeline, babbled between each other as they awaited the verdict. After some time, the Ricks drew away from each other, and the room felt heavier under the weight of all the tension in the air.

"Morty Smith of Earth dimension C-137," Rick Prime stated, standing up. The other council members followed suit. "We have decided to quarantine your dimension. No Rick may enter, and no R _—urrp—_ Rick may leave. This will ensure that your dimension stays safe under the circumstances you have described. Are we all in agreement?"

The council members all nodded, and the jury joined their voices into the fray to signal their agreement. There was a general atmosphere of satisfaction and accomplishment, except for Morty, who was still utterly perplexed as he stood there and rolled the verdict over and over in his head. "Wait," he spoke through the throng of felicitations being given, drawing a few heads, "what a-about my R-Rick? What are we g-going to do?"

And then the council did something Morty didn't expect, yet they also did something he should have expected all the same. They laughed. It started small, but then it swelled. One, two three, four, five, and then all six council Ricks were guffawing from atop their golden thrones at him. Quite a few jury Ricks laughed as well, as if following the lead of their superiors. Only the Mortys kept quiet, most only eying him benevolently, like they knew what was about to happen.

"Oh, oh, this is rich," Riq Vi was the one to answer him, a scathing laugh escaping his lips. "Jesus, C-137," he sneered, "you don't think that we're actually going to _help_ your Rick, do you?"

It was like the world had split under Morty's feet. His stomach flipped inside out and his intestines coiled. In his shocked state, he could only manage to muster up a single, horrified "what?"

It was Quantum Rick who answered him this time, still rubbing tears out of his eyes. "Look, C-137, you got a n _—urrp—_ a nice sob story and all, but fact of the matter is, your Rick ain't part of the council. Better yet, he's been a pain in our ass for the last thirty years. He passed all this up a long time ago, so why should we be obliged to give a shit?"

Morty couldn't believe what he was hearing. "B-b-but he's a R-Rick," he spat, his fury running away from him, "and i-if the Federation gets what they what with _him_ , t-then they're g-going to come for _you_ next!"

Riq VI smirked. "That doesn't sound l _—urrp—_ like our problem."

"But it will be!" Morty snarled. "That's not f-fair!"

"Watch it, C-137," Prime Rick spat back at him. "You think you can come in and tell us how to do our fucking jobs?"

Morty was outraged enough to be forced back into compliance, his mouth snapping back shut. _Strike two_ ; the thought rang through his head.

"Are we all in agreement?" Rick Prime asked again.

Six heads bobbed up and down. A smaller and more discouraged murmur of agreement rose from the crowd of Ricks and Mortys gathered below. Morty stood, rooted to the spot, more furious than he'd ever felt in his life.

Maximus Rickimus spoke up next, gathering a paper from his podium. "Well, if that's in order, then bring in the Rick Replacement Taskforce."

Upon hearing those words, Morty was snapped out of his stupor. "W-wait, what's t-the R-Rick Replacement Taskforce?"

A part of him didn't want to know the answer.

"Well, you've j _—urrp—_ just admitted that you lost your Rick" Riq VI informed him. "That makes you a Rick-less M-Morty. There are tons of Ricks who lost their Mortys on some sort of adventure. You're going to be assigned a new one"

Realization dawned on Morty with the speed of a freight train. When he spoke again, his voice was meek and listless. "Y-you…you're giving me away? What about my family? My sister? My grandfather?"

"Your Rick is a lost cause," Ricktiminus Sancheziminus told him as a side door opened and several armed Rick guards marched out. "Why bother getting him, anyway? You be assi _—urrp—_ assigned a new Rick and it'll be like it never happened."

In that moment, something struck Morty. Standing there, in front of hundreds of alternate versions of himself and his grandfather, he felt something harden inside his chest. His mind was miraculously clear, with only one thought running through it—he was about to strike out.

"My R-Rick would care. And h-he'd get m-me," Morty snarled. "So fuck you g-guys, and peace the fuck o-out."

Six hard pairs of eyes bore into him. "What?" Three of them spoke at the same time, the other three appeared to be too astonished to talk back.

Before Morty could say something, and before the council could react, he bolted. He just ran as fast as his legs could carry him, barreling towards the side door that had just opened. He managed to duck under the outstretched arms of the Rick guards and glance back, catching one glance back to see six scandalized faces staring at his back. His moment of catharsis had, Morty sprinted out the door and ran as fast as he could, turning down the first turn his could find and just going. Behind him, he could hear one of the council Ricks recover, barking orders to chase him down.

As he sprinted through the maze of columns, it came upon Morty that despite how much he relished the decision he made, he had absolutely no plan thereafter. He had no way to get back, and now he was a fugitive inside a giant citadel filled with people trying to capture him. Anger and adrenaline melted into terror and uncertainty in the blink of an eye. He was so distracted with the circumstances of his own misfortunes that he wasn't looking where he was going, so it was no surprise when Morty turned a corner and charged straight into another body. A Rick, most likely. Morty crashed into the ground hard, where a shadow fell upon him. Blinking stars out of his eyes, Morty forced himself to look up.

He was looking at a Rick, alright, but it looked like a Rick that had been created in a universe drawn by Jim Davis. His eyes were almost comically unaligned, appearing to be looking in two directions at once. There was a gap in his teeth so big Morty was certain his could have slipped a quarter through it. The real kicker was the hair, however; instead of being unkempt and sticking out at odd angles, it was neatly combed into a bowl shape. In place of his signature frown, this Rick wore a toothy smile. When he spoke, air rushed through the gap in his teeth and made the words whistle. "Well hey there, Morty. Are you lost?"

Even his tone of voice was off. All nice and comforting, and in a trusting sort of manner. That was probably what unnerved Morty the most. This Rick was much too kind to be an actual Rick, right?

Before Morty could contemplate any longer, the sounds of several approaching footsteps resonated with him. Shit, there must've been ten of them on his tail and he'd been stopped like a dumbass in his tracks by a dopier looking version of his grandfather. There was no hope of outrunning the pack of Ricks on his trail now. He needed somewhere to hide.

Fighting down his impending sense of doom, Morty turned tail away the goofy-looking Rick and pressed himself against one of the thick pillars. The Rick let out a gasp, looking at him in surprise and confusion. Morty forced himself to calm down and quickly put a finger to his lips in the hopes that the goofy Rick would get the message. He would be safe as long as none of the Ricks chasing him turned around.

Morty held his breath as the patrol of Ricks sent to capture him ran right past his hiding spot. They sprinted right past him without a second glance, missing him out in the open. Relieved, Morty was about to leave the safety of the pillar and return back the way he came when he noticed that they'd all stopped in front of the Rick he'd barreled into. They circled him like sharks, guns in their hands. Horror flooded through him, and Morty pressed himself further against his hiding spot.

"Yo, Doofus Rick," one of the Rick guards snapped at the goofy-looking Rick, who'd in the meantime turned his head away from Morty and looked at the alternate versions of himself, "have yo— _urrp—_ you seen a rogue Morty anywhere? Did he co-come down the hall?"

Doofus Rick opened his mouth, and a rush of fear flew up Morty's spine. Desperately, he shook his head from behind the pillar, hoping against hope that the goofy-looking Rick was watching out of the corner of his eye. Fortunately, it seemed that luck, for once, was on his side.

"I…uh, no, I haven't," Doofus Rick lied, stealing a quick sideways glance at his hiding spot. "I was just on my way to pick up my Morty from the clinic. Is something wrong?"

"None of your b-business, shitface," one of the Ricks jeered. "Have fun p— _urrp—_ icking up your loser Morty. I heard he was great in _When Zachary Beaver Came to Town._ "

A few other voices laughed, and then, mercifully, there was the sound of footsteps again as the platoon of Ricks marched away. Trembling, Morty peeled himself off the pillar and allowed himself a moment to breathe.

Doofus Rick, meanwhile, approached him with a prideful expression on his face. "Well, that was fun! The most fun I've had in a while! So thrilling!" his face fell slightly, maybe due to the supposed seriousness of the situation finally catching up with him. "So, why were they trying to catch you, Morty?"

Another bright flash of panic shot through Morty, who bolted upright, feeling like he'd been electrocuted. "Um, I, they…" well, time to see just how much of a doofus Doofus Rick really was, "they w-weren't coming after m-me."

Doofus Rick's expression tightened with concentration. Morty could feel sweat pouring down the sides of his face. "Then why'd you shake your head and stuff?" he asked, not harshly, but certainly not unknowingly.

"I was trying to f-find the M-Morty first, y-you know?" was the first thing that popped into his head. "I just d-didn't want the other R-Ricks to see m-me, right? Me running a-around without a R-Rick and all. I didn't w-want to get in trouble."

Finally, Doofus Rick broke back into his wide smile. "Well yeah, that makes sense! They're pretty hard on Mortys who don't have a Rick. Say, where is your Rick anyway?"

"Back in my d-dimension," at this point, Morty was just trying to keep himself afloat through this deathtrap of a conversation. He was feeling bad for lying so much, but there wasn't really much he could do anymore to stop the ball from rolling. "Probably, I-I mean. We sort o-of got separated in the c-citadel. Hey, y-you don't think y-you ca-can get me back home, d-do you?"

Morty thought he saw Doofus Rick's eyes glisten with happiness, hands wild and awry as he fumbled through the folds of his lab coat. "Well sure, Morty! I hope you find your Rick. What dimension are you from?"

"C-137."

"Oh hey, you're from C-137?" seemed like everyone in this damn place knew about dimension C-137. "Hey, your dad was the coolest. How is Jer-Bear these days? You know, you're one lucky Mor-."

In an effort to speed things along, Morty seized the portal gun from one of Doofus Rick's pockets and thrust it into the hands of the scientist himself. "Yeah, he-he's fine. Just send m-me back to planet FR-0284, p-please. T-there's a bunker there, so please j-just send me there, okay?"

Doofus Rick's face fell again. "Well, isn't it easier to go back to your house?"

Christ, did anyone in this damn place ever stop talking? Morty rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, rattling off excuses as fast as possible. "R-Rick and I-I were there l-last. He'll kn-know where t-to find m-me. J-just please do i-it!"

At long last, Doofus Rick entered the coordinates into the gun and fired, presenting Morty with a perfect portal back into his dimension. Without the slightest bit of hesitation, Morty charged past him and practically threw himself into the portal. The last things he heard was Doofus Rick shouting "say hi to Jerry for me!" before Morty was plunged back into the icy holes of his own reality.

-X-

Just his luck, Morty totally forgot about the catch in the portal.

He came crashing back into FR-0284 face first, his nose smashing hard into the ice as he sprawled over the ground. Groaning, Morty turned himself over just in time to see the portal disappear with a green _pop_ , leaving him alone. High ceilings and hanging chains greeted him as they dangled above his head. At least Doofus Rick was accurate with the portal gun, because he'd sent him straight back into the hanger of the bunker that he and Summer had explored a while ago.

Morty grumbled and flipped himself back over just in time to hear the footsteps coming back down the hall. A moment later, the door slammed open and Summer charged in, her pistol clutched in her hand. She lowered it after a brief moment of hesitation, her face relaxing. "Oh Jesus, it's just you," she breathed in relief, holstering her pistol and approaching him. "How'd it go?"

Morty couldn't resist a sarcastic remark. "P-pretty well, all t-things considered."

"No luck, I take it?" Morty loathed the sympathy in his sister's voice. He ignored her stretched out hand and pushed himself off the ice. Only now was he feeling the sheer exhaustion of the day's events. Between C-132 Rick and the council, the only thing Morty wanted to do was to curl up in his bed and sleep for a year.

"Does it look l-like it?" Morty couldn't help but snap, his tiredness making him lose control of his temperament. At least, he thought that was the case. Maybe the council's apathy was still getting to him. He could still hear their laughter ringing in his ears like church bells, a nagging itch in the back of his head that he just couldn't scratch.

Summer opened her mouth but then closed it after taking a look at her brother's face, instead offering him her shoulder. Morty collapsed onto it gratefully and allowed his sister to guide him back through the hallways of the bunker. After a moment or two, he felt rejuvenated enough to walk on his own, and Summer did so but not without some complaining. "You're exhausted. Let me help you," she would say, but Morty stubbornly shook his head. He wasn't exactly keeping up with her, but he was done with her kindness, at least until he could get some rest.

At long last, the two of them found themselves back in the conference room, where Yhlari stood staring at the hologram of the galaxy with her back to them. Summer cleared her throat, and their trainer turned around, purple eyes alight with worry. "Oh, thank goodness you found your way back. How'd it go, Morty?"

"I-it wasn't fun," Morty grumbled as Summer helped him into a seat.

Yhlari eyed him sympathetically. "No luck?"

"They sorta s-said that no R-Rick was allowed b-back in this d-dimension until we s-sorted out o-our own pr-problems."

The alien groaned and returned her attention back to the galaxy hologram. "Well, let's face it; it was a long shot and we knew it," Yhlari said matter-of-factly. "Looks like we're on our own for the time being. Fortunately, while you've been gone, Summer and I put our heads together and came up with some good news."

Morty perked up his head. Good news? At this point? "What i-is it?"

"C-132 Rick gave us a bit of an idea when he was talking to you," Yhlari began, "he said that we don't exactly have a ship to get us around the galaxy. And he's right; we're more or less trapped here on FR-0284 and hitchhiking through nebula after nebula is a surefire way to land us in the wrong hands."

Summer cut across Yhlari now, green eyes burning with the prospect of something wild and dangerous. "Yhlari and I have been talking for hours, Morty, and get this. She knows where Grandpa's spaceship is, and we're going to steal it back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things about this chapter:
> 
> 1) In case you couldn't tell, I took a LOT of inspiration from Pocket Mortys. Right down to some of my team members (such as Reverse-Mermaid Morty) making cameos in the chapter. I probably started writing this chapter in bits and snippets around the time the game came out in January, making an effort to cram in as many easter eggs as I could.
> 
> 2) In case you couldn't tell, I love Morticia. I sort of imagined her as a more mature, yet more excitable version of Morty, kinda like how I imagine 14-year-olds going through puberty are like, or at least how I was. She originally was just going to be another Morty until I decided to make him a her. Her Rick, on the other hand, was originally going to be female until I changed it back to male because I didn't want both of them to be female in this scene. (I originally wanted to include other Ricks like Zero and Junkyard from the game but decided against it for time).
> 
> 3) This is the longest thing I've ever written. Authors notes and all, this is going to clock in at about 7.2k words. It took A LONG ASS TIME to write.
> 
> Thanks for reading and please review if you enjoyed!


	14. Summer Spectacular

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for all the lovely reviews the last chapter!
> 
> I hope y'all are having a nice summer! This chapter was a lot longer than the original intention and I'm making the next one shorter as a bit of compensation.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy!

Life was a bit of a bitch, wasn't it?

It wasn't even six months until her graduation from high school and here Summer Smith was, sitting miles under ice and looking at a trash planet with a blue alien and her little brother who was clearly fighting physical and mental fatigue. She watched, concerned, as Morty sat next to her with his chin propped up as if he didn't trust his head to stay up during their presentation-slash-debriefing.

It wasn't like she wanted this. It wasn't like she expected to be here, buried under a millennia's worth of ice in the furthest corner of the galaxy. How she'd allowed Morty's dreams to run so wild was beyond her, but pretending she was totally guiltless in this situation was laughable. Morty wouldn't even have gotten to the next block over if she hadn't tagged along, and she did so willingly. There were quite a few reasons for it, most of them boiling down to guilt and shame and, when Summer thought long and hard about it, a raw anger. The source of that anger was hard to identify, as if it had been dispersed over multiple people and places and events. But it clawed at her—a constant dull pain that she couldn't ignore no matter how hard she tried. Summer had allowed herself to mull it over for almost two-thirds of a year and she still had nothing to show for it. It still nagged at her while Yhlari had sat them down at the conference table and, keeping one watchful purple eye on Morty, flipped on the switch to the hologram monitor and allowed the various star systems to finish spreading out until the Milky Way Galaxy shone brightly above their heads.

"Okay, what we're looking for is a Wilflaj," Yhlari began. As she twirled a knob, the galaxy spun through several solar systems, flashes of color zooming above them like high-speed marbles.

"Wilflajes are densely populated, high controlled outposts that serve as Federation operation centers," the alien explained as the galaxy map settled on a planet somewhere in some distant star system. The planet in question wasn't very appealing, a large hunk of nasty brown dancing on the outer rims of the galaxy. Squinting, Summer could make out large buildings protruding out of the surface like broken teeth, giving the entire planet an uneven looking texture. Ships swarmed the atmosphere like flies, so the whole thing had the appearance of a piece of crap floating through space.

Morty beat her to the punch, however. "It looks l-like a pile of s-shit," he grumbled sleepily from his position on the table.

"Well, you're not wrong," Yhlari's voice was filled with disgust, "because that's essentially what a Wilflaj is. It's a classification, not a name. The Federation basically takes dead planets—any planet that's been stripped of organic life, forcefully or otherwise—and builds a city on it. Everything you see here is artificial: the buildings, the streets, and hell, even the atmosphere. All the oxygen is either pumped in or manufactured and sold. In the Gromflomite language, 'wil' means world and 'flaj' means waste, so the literal translation of the name is 'garbage planet'. The entire place is practically a hunk of trash floating through space."

Yhlari spun the dial on the controls and the planet shrunk into the size of a pea, becoming a red dot as the rebel highlighted it. "One of the purposes of a Wilflaj is to serve as a galactic fence to separate the inner galaxy, the federally controlled one, from the outer rims." Several other pea-sized planets lit up as well, forming a broken ring like a connect-the-dot puzzle. "You need to enter one of these places to get a vehicle license in order to pass into the outer rims. Without one, you'd be destined to get stuck on the other side. These things are swarming with Federation goons, enough to mobilize an entire army with the snap of a finger."

"So these things," Summer waved her hand vaguely at the tiny red planets on the map, "are like planetary Ellis Islands if they were built like Fort Knox?"

"I literally have no idea what the hell that analogy is supposed to mean, but whatever floats your boat," Yhlari said.

"G-guys," Morty piped up from his place at the table, "what d-does any of this h-have to do with R-Rick's ship?"

"I was getting to that," Yhlari zoomed the planet back into full focus. "As I was saying, if someone's excuses aren't up to par, and a lot of them aren't, the Federation confiscates ships. Each region of the galaxy has it's own Wilflaj it reports to, and fortunately it's public knowledge. I suppose the Federation gets a kick out of listening to complaints about wrongfully detained vehicles. Anyway, depending on the last planet you guys were on when you had the ship, it most likely got confiscated by the Federation and taken to the nearest Wilflaj. Simple as that." Yhlari started typing coordinates as she spoke, pulling up Planet Squanch. "According to your sister, Morty, this was the last place you'd seen the ship, right?"

Morty gave his weary affirmation. A thin red line snaked out from Planet Squanch and connected with another world some distance away.

"There," Yhlari finalized. "Wilflaj-223. If Rick's ship was taken, then that's where they would have brought it." Her hand brushed against the portal gun prototype resting on the table. "Since the place is about twenty-five thousand light years away from here, we can use this to get there so we don't have to hitch a ride and risk capture on the way. And, if all goes well, we steal the ship back and head back to FR-0284 with no casualties."

Summer nodded enthusiastically, but her eagerness soon melted into concern as she saw her brother start to pick himself off the table despite his drooping eyes and scattered movements. "W-When are w-we g-going?" he asked. Even his stutter was worse; it was always worse when he was tired. The thought made Summer's gut clench.

"You're not going!" Summer leapt to her feet, glaring at her brother as exasperation and worry overtook her. "You're exhausted! You need to sleep, Morty."

Morty ignored her, instead turning to Yhlari as if for permission. For a heartbeat, Summer was concerned that the blue alien would want all hands on deck and allow Morty to tag along despite his obvious fatigue, but she appeared to be on her side. "Sorry Morty, but I'm going to have to back Summer up on this one. If the Federation has ways of tracking your brainwaves, then dumping you in the middle of a highly militarized area would be a guaranteed way to get us all captured. Besides, if it comes down to a fight, I don't think you'd be able to dodge blaster fire when you're asleep on your feet. Stay here, rest, and hold down the fort. If all things go according to plan, Summer and I should be back in a few days."

Morty opened his mouth like he was about to argue with her, but closed it after a second thought and nodded in defeat. Summer wasn't sure if it was because he saw the reasoning in her explanation, or if he was just too tired to fight back. He rested his head on his hands and let his eyes fall shut, his breathing becoming heavier. A minute later he was snoring.

Summer moved to shake her brother's shoulder but was stopped by Yhlari. "Let him sleep," she advised, her eyes full of empathy, "there's really no point in trying to wake him up. He's had a long day."

A long day. Morty seemed to have more long days than any other fourteen-year old in history. Between his and Rick's adventures, and then having the weight of an entire dimension's fate on his shoulders, Summer considered her brother more of a zombie than a kid by now. Nevertheless, she retracted her hand and began to shrug her ski coat back on as Yhlari headed over to the lockers against the wall.

"You won't need that. You'd bake under all that fabric," the alien told her as Summer struggled with the zipper. Smirking at her confused expression, Yhlari tossed Summer something tan, which she caught with one hand. "We're going to use these instead."

Draping her ski jacket over the back of a chair, Summer unfolded the bundle and felt her lip curl immediately. It was a poncho made of a material that felt strikingly similar to burlap and with a hood sewn into the back. Summer cast an annoyed look over to Yhlari, who shrugged apologetically. "Do you really want to walk around with that in plain view of the Gromflomites?" she asked, nodding to Summer's thigh holster with Weisenhurt's pistol strapped to her side.

"I suppose not..." Summer grumbled to herself, begrudgingly slipping the poncho over herself. It was extremely heavy, and itched at her shoulders whenever she moved. "But I wasn't exactly planning on looking like a 1995 Chico's reject, either."

"Trust me Summer, you'll be grateful for the anonymity," Yhlari assured her as she slipped on her own poncho, smoothing her white hair down. To be fair, the rebel's own pistol was safely tucked in the folds of the poncho, out of sight from wandering eyes. Still, didn't mean she had to like it very much.

Summer tried not to show her displeasure as Yhlari began to type coordinates into the prototype. She came to join her, natural curiosity beginning to get the better of her. "Anything I should know?" Summer wondered aloud.

"Just stay close to me," Yhlari's voice grew stern, talking to Summer as if she was a soldier, not a friend. "You don't want to wander off in places like this. There are all sorts of folks here, and I'm sure you've assumed that most of them aren't friendly. A lot of them are desperate and willing to do anything to get a few extra Fed Credits if it means getting what they need. So stick with me, speak softly, and keep your impulses in check."

Summer nodded. Yhlari finished plugging the coordinates in and pressed the on button on the remote. It took a few shudders and moans, but the prototype eventually complied and spat out a portal on the wall. Wordlessly, unceremoniously, Summer followed her trainer through the green hole and disappeared into the green swirls.

-X-

The first thing that hit Summer was the smell. Oh God, the _smell_. It smelled like the unholy lovechild of rotten eggs and dirty gym clothes if it was raised in a trash compactor. It was all she could do to not visibly gag as the two of them strode out into the open on Wil-whatever, the stench hitting Summer like a seventy-mile per hour semi. Yhlari kept much better face than she did, but not even Summer missed her cringing as she stepped out of the portal. "This way," she said through a barely suppressed gag, dragging Summer away.

They had landed in some sort of alley, a thin strip of road wedged between two buildings with barely enough space to squeeze in and out of. The ground was hard and cracked beneath her boots (something Summer was more grateful for than she would admit; with all the talk of shit going on, she was afraid she'd be walking through it) and dirty beyond comprehension. The buildings themselves were similar, with crumbling fixtures and pieces of the framework sticking out like fractured bones. A sound, something that reminded Summer of a running engine, filled her ears as she and Yhlari inched their way between the buildings. Summer briefly looked upwards and saw swarms of spaceships zooming in and out from between the gap in the buildings, and was momentarily mesmerized until Yhlari tugged on her arm and dragged her back into reality.

As if thrown into a school of fish, the two of them slipped out of the alley and were immediately met by hordes of civilians squeezed together in the road. An elbow found Summer's stomach, and some stray appendage nearly wrapped its way around her legs, and she was forced to fight for what little personal space was available to her as to simply stand up straight and move forward. A sea of aliens pressed up against either side of her, breath hot down her neck as she rocked and rolled with the will of the crowd around her. Yhlari stayed close to her side, never once leaving, and Summer felt woozy with relief as she tried to mimic her composure. Only when she could take a few steps forward without tripping, finally accustomed to the rhythm of the mob around her, did she allow herself to look around.

Summer had never seen so many shades of yellow in her entire life. The buildings surrounding them appeared to all be built of the same material, most of which had been broken apart or chipped away. Filthy yellow pieces of rock littered the ground—Summer could feel herself kicking them every other step as they went on. Even the sky was this dark gold, bearing a strong resemblance to vomit. As if on a highway, ships crowded high above them and obscured most of the worlds beyond. Pressing against the crowd were stalls for a giant street market. The place buzzed with noise as aliens hollered over the crowds and waved arms filled with junk. They attracted some, only some, customers. Most appeared to be too occupied with their destination to pay the bazaars much mind. The air around Summer felt…stale, almost like it was aged and recycled many times over again, and she found each new breath harder and harder to take in. Her glimpses of aliens were brief at best, each of them different, some species she recognized and some she didn't. And Summer found that the more she looked, the more miniscule details she noticed. The dull, defeated look that glazed every alien eye. The Gromflomite patrol posted on every street corner. The way that Yhlari tugged her hood over her head and stared straight ahead, not meeting anyone's eyes.

"Are you okay?" Summer asked in undertone as the two of them passed another Gromflomite patrol who'd snagged a group of orange Fragilians on the edge of the crowd. Even the biggest one was cowering under the sight of the laser rifle clutched in the thing's pincer. A baby wailed in the arms of one of it's parents. Despite her heart momentarily clenching with helplessness, Summer continued forward and allowed the crowd to sweep her away. Her hand brushed against her pistol, and she found it surprisingly hard to pull away from it.

Yhlari had seen it too, but her hands balling in and out were the only outward sign of her frustration. "I've spent a lot of time in a lot of places," she whispered back, "and I've done things that's given me quite a bit of notoriety. It'd be best for me to keep my head down lest someone recognizes me."

"But aren't there, like, tons of your species or something?" Summer asked casually. "Do you guys get around? I mean, how hard would it be to claim that you were someone else?"

Yhlari kept up such a wall around the two of them that trying to decipher her emotions was like trying to read a book while blindfolded, but Summer swore she saw the alien bristle for the briefest of moments. "Of course," she replied tersely. "But, well, it's a little more complicated than that."

"Wha-?"

"Eyes ahead, mouth shut." Yhlari hissed hurriedly. "See? We're nearly there. Keep yourself moving."

Although less than satisfied with the answer, Summer looked up in time to see the crowd begin to diverge. Some went left, others went right. The Federation building sprawled out in front of them, shiny and new as a stark contrast to the dead and dusty Wilflaj it was made on. On the highest tower, Summer noticed a symbol glowing green that looked like an upside-down triangle. A wire fence lined the perimeter with watch towers breaking the fencing every few yards or so. As Yhlari and Summer took the left path, they were forced up against the barrier, and Summer was able to get a decent look inside. The wall was made up entirely of garage doors, at least twenty of them. Gromflomite patrols stood off every ten feet from each other as they crossed the yard, which stretched out a few hundred feet before the actual building even began. And even then, assuming they got inside without being caught or shot at, the outside was so huge that they were sure to get spotted before they even got close to finding Rick's ship.

"How the hell are we even supposed to get inside?" Summer couldn't help voicing her fears aloud, throwing glances over her shoulder to make sure her voice was low enough to be overlooked by wandering ears, "We can't just run the fence and make a break for it."

Yhlari was nodding thoughtfully. "I have a plan…of sorts," she added after a moments hesitation. "But a lot of it is going to need to rely on whether or not the Federation still does stuff the way they did the last time I was here, and that was more than five years ago. Judging by the crowd, I'm thinking they do. Until then, keep quiet. If plan A is a no-go, then we're going to have to improvise."

As Summer was going to ask what plan A even was, she crashed into the back of the now stopped alien in front of her. Before she could mutter an apology, the alien had spun around. It was something she'd never seen before: forest-green with seven beady red eyes and long beefy arms that dragged on the ground. The thing stared at her, and Summer felt more curious than scared when she realized that it wasn't angry with her. Seven eyes narrowed in concentration, the alien gazed at her for a few more seconds before turning back around and shouldering through the halted crowd.

"That was weird," Summer said, leaning against a watch tower.

"Not really," Yhlari, Summer noted, was still keeping her head lowered as she joined her side. "Earth hasn't invented intergalactic space travel yet, right, which means that Rick was the first to do so in your planet's history. So you, him, and your brother make the only three humans in history to make it out of your system." Her tone held a slight hint of teasing in it now. "I guarantee you that all of these guys have never seen a human before. No surprise they'd want to get a good look at you."

"I suppose so…" Summer grumbled, crossing her arms in front of her chest. The entire crowd had also stopped with the two of them. They milled about, anxiously glancing over their shoulders. With eyes downcast, Summer could only speculate as to what they were so nervous about.

As she went to scratch the back of her neck, a hand brushed against something crumpled. Summer took a step back and was met with a large wall of papers posted on the watch tower. There were so many that some were stapled over top of the others. Several hundred faces stared back at her with hard eyes and fierce expressions etched into the ink. Staring in amazement, Summer plucked one off the wall and examined the face of a rather furious-looking Gazorpian. The price was down below, and Summer couldn't read it. It seemed to be about four figures, however.

"Wanted posters," Yhlari told her without raising her head. "Some of these people in the crowds are bounty hunters. It's an easy way to get Fed Credits, which are the only currency the Federation accepts. Humph, with all the inflation, Flurbos pretty much have the value of a paper clip out here. It's easy money if you've got the skills for it, and the Federation always appreciates someone doing their jobs for them."

Summer threw a look over her shoulder, suddenly understanding the apparent fears of the aliens. "How many of these guys are, you know, bounty hunters?" she asked, keeping her voice soft.

Yhlari looked up and made a quick scan of the crowd around them before jerking her head towards her left. "See that alien over there? The purple one? That's a Nerfliogie from the Whilomion system." Summer followed her motion towards an alien with long-flowing hair and a black jumpsuit. Its eyes were narrowed and shifty, fliting back and forth as if it expected to get pounced on at any moment. "Bounty hunters are notoriously easy to spot once you know the look of one. A few are wanted themselves, so you'd want to keep a low profile."

"And you would know that, wouldn't you? You were one yourself?" Summer guessed.

Yhlari didn't answer her for the longest of times, and for a minute Summer was worried that she'd offended her. But at last, she let out a gentle laugh. "No getting things past you, Summer. Yeah, I hunted for a little while, but not for long." Her voice dropped with untold burden. "It got tiring. Too hard to look at that wall and see the faces of all of your friends staring back at you."

It was like a weight had been forced down her throat, her stomach tightening up as it dropped. Summer said nothing and returned her attention to the wanted posters, trying to busy herself and keep her mind free of the information she was blessed with not knowing. _Ignorance truly is bliss_ , Summer thought, _no wonder Grandpa Rick was always so bitter all the time._

_How many of his friends did he see get locked away? Or worse?_

Pushing the dark thoughts to the back of her mind, Summer determinately pawed through the posters, focusing instead on the crooked illustrations and the runes she had still been unable to decipher. The crowd around them stayed motionless, and she savored the relief she had from the constant moving.

After some time, as Summer dug through several layers, she found something interesting. Tugging out a yellowed paper, she stared at an unmistakable likeliness glaring back at her. The face was drawn back into a snarl, with several nonexistent scars crisscrossing the face. The bounty attached was at least six figures. Maybe even seven.

The alien caught sight of her gawking at the paper. "You've found me, haven't you?" she asked dryly.

Summer nodded.

Yhlari exhaled, leaning heavily on the tower. "There's a reason I haven't been here in a long time," she said soberly, "too risky." And that was all she said. But she didn't need to say any more than that. Summer didn't pin the poster back up; instead, she pocketed it. It was something she needed to dwell on later.

The minutes ticked by. Summer and Yhlari stayed in place, waiting for something that Summer wasn't even sure what it was. The longer she waited, the more antsy she got. She couldn't help it; it was too easy to dwell on all the bad things that could go wrong here, where they had very little help and even less of a plan. Summer's mind drifted back to her brother, hopefully still safe and sound back in the bunker. In doing so, her gut twisted with guilt. Was it safe to just leave him like that, alone with no one to guard him? What if the Federation found him?

Her paralyzing thoughts were rudely interrupted by a blaring siren, drawing the attention of every alien on the street. Summer jumped, feeling like she had been pulled out of deep water. "Did someone jump the fence?" she hissed to Yhlari, reaching for her gun, "or did someone get shot? What happened?"

Yhlari remained unperturbed. "Relax," she said, calm and collected as usual, "it's only the all-clear signal. They're letting us in."

"in where?" Summer asked.

In answer came in the form of a massive shift in the crowd, which nearly swept Summer off her feet. Yhlari made a grab for her and latched onto her wrist, hanging on as the mass of bodies lurched forward. Once she recovered her wits and adjusted herself, Summer could see what caused the commotion. An entrance had opened, allowing the crowd to pour into the compound. Moving with the rest of the group, Summer and Yhlari slid onto the grounds and were funneled into a thin line, Gromflomites posted on either side to keep them enclosed. Up close, she got a clear view of their armor and their guns, glinting harshly in the light.

The crowd dispersed after some time to a small section of the yard right up against the building. Summer caught sight of various piles of junk and scrap metal piled up in large mounds, with aliens digging through it as if they thought gold was buried at the center. Some came up with things they clearly needed, victorious expressions on their faces, and were quickly approached by Gromflomites demanding Fed Credits. Some faces fell, and they went to return their prizes. Other faces twisted in annoyance but nevertheless dolled out the money. It was a curious practice that Summer had no time to see as Yhlari dragged her over to the nearest pile of junk.

Out of the corner of her eye, Summer saw that the alien was pretending to examine the scraps but was inching her way to the next pile, her path leading her towards the walls of the compound. Summer did her best to emulate, even thumbing through a few pieces of scrap metal, which earned her a small nod of approval from Yhlari.

Slowly, slowly, the two of them jumped from pile to pile until they shuffled around the last mound before the wall, out of sight from the Gromflomites. Like a rocket, and with absolutely no warning, Yhlari took off for the wall and rounded the corner, leaving Summer to sprint after her and pray that they weren't seen. The alien had the decency to wait on the other side as Summer joined her and caught her breath. She listened, waiting for alarms to sound, as surely someone had saw their mad dash for illegal grounds. But nothing ever came.

Once Summer had caught her breath, Yhlari motioned for her to follow and they continued on their way. On they traveled, pressed against the dark walls, moving as fast as they could. The outside offered no cover for them, so Summer had to press herself against the walls and hope that none of the Gromflomite patrols would turn around.

On and on they went, passing over garage door after garage door after garage door. It was agonizing, not being able to enter one of them to get out of the open, but Summer didn't dare raise a complaint now. Yhlari would talk to herself as they passed each garage door, giving a small shake of her head as an affirmation to Summer that they still hadn't found what they were looking for.

At last, they stopped. Yhlari examined the sign in front of the door. "'Detained Vehicles, Section S'," she announced, pulling out a small pen-like item. "Okay, if Rick's ship is here, then this is where they would have taken it."

Yhlari pressed the pen to the garage door and sparks flew out of the tip. As she worked, Summer dared to ask "and what if it's not?"

Yhlari didn't answer. Or chose not to. Summer couldn't tell the difference.

It took a minute, but Yhlari finally finished tracing a hole with her sparky pen. She pushed it and the piece of metal she had carved out fell with a clang _._ "After you," she offered, allowing Summer to crawl through the hole and into the garage. She took refugee behind the first ship she could find, feeling Yhlari enter behind her and look over her shoulder.

The place was…huge. Massive and magnificent ships of all shapes and sizes were lined on either side. Some were the size of Summer's house, others at least two or three times that or more. They stood side by side, rusting and wasting away with no one to care for them. It didn't look as if they had been touched since they had been seized.

"Shame that these are all going to waste," Yhlari echoed her thoughts. "Now, which one of these is Rick's ship? Remember Summer, we don't have a lot of time."

But Summer wasn't paying attention. Her eyes scanned the room silently, floating over the glorious ships in the garage until they fell upon a familiar sight.

And there it was, in all it's glory. Compared to the extravagant ships and vehicles that flanked it, Rick's ship looked like a hunk of junk metal in a china shop. It was a little more beat up than she remembered, sporting the laser fire and scorch marks of the battle at the reception that she'd much rather not think about. The ship had a busted headlight and the sticker that had said "GLORTO 86b" had been blasted off. But all in all, it looked flyable: a lot better than she thought it would be, actually. Summer almost squealed in joy, relief and elation overtaking her for a split second.

"See that one? The small gray saucer over there?" Summer hissed to Yhlari, "That's Grandpa Rick's ship."

There was no mistaking the surprise in Yhlari's voice, no matter how hard she tried to disguise it. "That old thing? I mean, it's…it's sorta, well…"

"Not what you imagined?" Summer guessed.

"I suppose so," Yhlari's voice was somewhere between apologetic and dissatisfied. "I mean, it's not exactly a pretty ship to look at."

Summer shrugged, unable to keep the defensiveness out of her tone. "Look, Grandpa Rick built it out of scrap stuff in the garage, so it's not like it's going to look like a million bucks or something."

"I know that, but I've seen your grandfather make handguns out of a potato, paper clips and some magnetized wires. Stop talking and focus on the task at hand." Yhlari's forceful tone signaled a clear end to the conversation, so Summer obediently shut her mouth and continued her observation of the garage.

Perhaps the strangest thing about the entire scenario was the massive crowd that Rick's ship drew. The rest of the room almost faded into the background because about seven or eight Gromflomite scientists crowded around the ship and talked amongst each other in soft voices. Two of them stood off to the side with wires at the ready, another two or three were at the front of the car with their claw hands hovering over the hood as if they were afraid to touch it, and two more were jotting something down on their clipboards. The Gromflomites at the hood of the car patiently looked at those with the clipboards—the head scientists, Summer guessed—like they were obediently awaiting orders.

"What are they doing?" Summer whispered.

"Shush," Yhlari snapped back, "Let's see."

The head scientists finally gave the two Gromflomites at the hood a nod, and there was a brief moment of hesitation before either of them made a move. The one on the left placed a pincer on the hood. And the minute it did so, it was as if a creature had been awakened. The ship's headlights flared, the hood clamped shut, and a familiar voice reverberated through the silent garage. " _Voice identification required_."

The Gromflomites at the hood let out shocked garbles in their native languages, clearly too scared to do anything else.

" _Voice identification failed."_

With a burst of electricity, the Gromflomites were thrown off their feet across the garage. They hit the windshield of the ship opposite Rick's ship and dropped to the ground, their wings flapping pitifully. Yhlari gasped but it was lost in the ensuing commotion as the Gromflomites rushed to their comrade's aid. The scientists were jotting something down, tutting between themselves. With the unconscious Gromflomites supported, the group made their way out of the garage and shut the door behind them with a frustrated slam.

Yhlari blinked, purple eyes wide in astonishment. "Never mind," she said weakly, "only Rick would be sadistic enough to have a security system like that."

Together, the two of them approached the car. Yhlari hung back, looking too nervous to even get within five feet of the thing, but Summer cautiously made her way to the hood.

"Be careful," the alien whispered.

Summer gently tapped the hood and her grandfather's car sprang back to life. " _Voice identification required_ ," it demanded in it's female voice that Summer both loathed and missed.

"It's me," Summer said awkwardly. "Summer Smith? Remember?"

"… _Voice identification accepted. Welcome back, Summer._ "

The car settled back down, the lights dying. When it was finally fully off, there was the sound of something inside clicking. Summer lunged forward and tested the handle to find that the car was now unlocked. Gratefully, the two of them slipped inside and shut the doors, Summer in the driver's seat and Yhlari in the shotgun. The interior had a rotted smell to it, a collection of the various stenches that had accumulated from discarded handles of liquor and rotted foods that had been locked on the inside. While Summer opened the door to toss a particularly moldy piece of pizza out, Yhlari examined the dashboard. "So, you _do_ know how to fly this thing, right?"

Summer sat upright, staring at the console before her. Up close (Rick never let her sit shotgun, much to her disdain), the thing looked a lot more daunting than she remembered. Rick had stuck just about every color of button or switch into the dashboard, and she had no idea which ones did what. Summer wracked her brain for ideas, but her memory was failing her at the worst of times. Her hands hovered over the nearest set of buttons, Yhlari looking on expectantly.

With how uncertain she felt, Summer felt that the alarms probably came at the best time.

The two of them jumped as a siren—a much louder, threatening siren—boomed through the compound. Yhlari rounded on her, expression fierce. "Do you know how to fly this hunk of junk or not!?" she repeated as Summer fumbled for the controls.

Summer blanched. "Er… not really, no," the words came tumbling out of her mouth as she pressed a button on random. The only thing that happened was the glove compartment opening, spilling out empty beer cans and other miscellaneous things.

Yhlari stared at her as if the whole world was crumbling right before her eyes. When she spoke again, it sounded as though a dam of several years' worth of anger had been burst. "What do you mean, 'not really'!?"

At the same time, the door to the garage burst open. Out poured several Gromflomite soldiers, all of them armed to the teeth with weaponry. Summer had to force down her panic as she saw them take up positions behind other possessed cars, laser rifles armed and at the ready. She hit another button; windshield wipers swept back and forth uselessly.

"Grandpa Rick never exactly taught me how to drive! He only taught Morty!" In the heat of the moment, Summer tore her eyes away from all the buttons and switches and looked at the popped-open glove compartment. There, sitting on the floor amongst the other random crap Rick kept in his car, was his favorite blaster pistol. Summer had almost forgotten that he'd left it in the car after Beth and Morty convinced him to embrace the mellowness of the wedding. Well, no time to think about that now. Summer seized the pistol and started to roll down the window. "Forget about the car! We can work on that later!" leaning out the window, Summer aimed at the nearest Gromflomite and fired. She ducked back into safety, the scream that followed telling her all she needed to know. "Push buttons! Any buttons! We need to get this thing moving before these assholes can shoot us down!"

If Yhlari had any misgivings, the absolute barrage of laserfire that commenced in the meantime must've chased away any doubt that remained. Soon, Gromflomites were screaming and rifles were blasting and the ship shuddered and groaned under the volley of lasers. As if sensing that they were running out of time, Yhlari started hitting any and every button and switch she could reach without complaint, steely determination lighting her eyes. Summer joined her after a moment, and soon the air was filled with the pounding of gunfire and the sounds of button after button being slammed down as desperation overtook the two of them.

Yhlari hit something at random and Summer felt the ship jerk under her feet. Something whirred, like it was being charged up. A burst of green light blasted out of the top of the ship, and there were shrill screams as several Gromflomites went flying across the garage. Yhlari, looking pleased with herself, pressed the button again. "That's certainly something!" she shouted as another green laser shot out from the ship and launched a second group of Gromflomites off of their feet.

"Hey, ship!" Summer shouted over the commotion as she aimed and killed another Gromflomite.

" _Yes, Summer?_ "

"Would you, oh, I don't know, like to get us the hell out of here!?" Summer screamed.

" _That's not very kind, Summer. What's the magic word?"_

She rolled her eyes. "Would you like to get us the hell out of here _please_!?" she snarled.

" _That's better._ "

On the dashboard, a little button pulsed green. Without thinking, Summer slammed it down. The entire ship groaned and grumbled and began to lift into the air. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the wheel and adjusted the seat settings. Okay, two pedals, a gear shift, a radio. She could do this. It was just like driving a car. A really complicated, homicidal car.

"Keep firing and hold on!" Summer shouted. Before Yhlari could protest, Summer slammed on the gas pedal.

It was as if she was being fired out of a rocket launcher. The two of them shot forward faster than Summer could possibly predict, hurtling towards the still closed garage door. Summer felt her hands brush over a button on the top of the steering wheel and pressed it, hoping for the best. Something red and pulsing fired out from their car, and the ship crashed into smoke. They burst out onto the other side, climbing further and further into the vomit sky.

It was strangely freeing, blasting off again without being tethered anymore. As Summer turned the ship upwards, she felt a kink in her gut unknot itself, as if something was being lifted off her shoulders. For the first time in eight months, Summer felt unburdened by all the shit that had fallen at her feet in the wake of her grandfather's capture.

By now, all the Gromflomites had been alerted to their presence and were firing their laser rifles upwards. Summer twisted and turned the wheel this way and that, expertly rocking the car back and forth in order to avoid being shot out of the sky. Yhlari bounced in her seat, looking queasy. Higher and higher they went, and the laser fire died down as they flew out of their range.

Yhlari recovered enough to force out her fears. "Ships…they're going…they're going to send ships. Need to…ugh, we need to leave."

"Ship?" Summer asked aloud. Space was so close; she could see the first few pinpricks of stars in the sky as they began to appear, one by one. "What do we have that can make us go faster?"

" _The dark matter reserves should be fully charged, Summer. Why don't you, like, use those?_ "

"Cut the sarcasm, asshole."

Another thing on the dashboard began to pulse, this time a big purple switch. Yhlari flicked it without a second thought, and Summer hit the gas pedal, hard.

Summer had never thought about what it would be like to do the hyperspace thing that they did in _Star Wars_ , with the whole "stars elongating and going at light speed" thing, but this was something that felt pretty damn similar. Her body was thrown back as the ship put on an extra thousand miles per hour in just two seconds, and suddenly they were flying past the stars and the planets. Wilfaj-223 was left behind, far behind. She couldn't move, pinned by the force of the dark matter boost. At this point, Summer was certain they were going to crash into some wayward planet and become space road kill.

"Hit the brakes!" Yhlari screeched from the shotgun seat.

It took all her energy, but Summer lifted her foot slightly and pressed the pedal. The ship slammed to a halt next to some pale green planet, and Summer was thrown forward. The steering wheel met her stomach, and the wind was knocked out of her like a popped balloon. She fell back wheezing, her guide falling into a similar position, breathless.

They allowed themselves a minute to recollect themselves before speaking, Summer rubbing her aching gut. Yhlari looked at the green planet and sighed. "Okay, I know where we are. We're pretty far out from FR-0284, but we aren't anywhere close to the Wilfaj, either," she sighed with relief. "It's going to take them hours to cover the distance we just did. Ugh…" She leaned back, offering Summer a smile. "Good job, Summer. You did really well, better than me under all that pressure. Your grandfather…he'd be really proud of you, even if he wouldn't be caught dead admitting it."

Summer said nothing. _Would_ Grandpa Rick be proud of her? Back when he was home, it seemed like all he ever did was treat her like a bother. Like a less important version of her natural-sidekick brother. "Girls-don't-go-on-adventures" this, "Summer's-too-PMS-y-to-do-anything-right" that.

But then she thought about all the times that seemed to break her supposed idea of how her grandfather treated her. Rick, for all his talk about how girls shouldn't go to space, _did_ take her on a lot of adventures with Morty over the past year. And there were times where he did seem to rely on her more than he would let on. The Purge Planet fiasco was one of the few times she'd heard him sound on the verge of desperation. And he had called her. Not his alien friends. Her.

Did her grandfather even feel pride? Somewhere deep in that Pandora's Box of a heart, maybe, but she always got the feeling that he felt more than he would ever dare to say.

Summer looked around for a moment. She'd missed this. The vast, comforting emptiness of space. It was almost like a second home for her. Satisfied, she straightened herself back up and gripped the wheel. "Lets go back, then," she said. "We'd better go and figure out our next move."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a Summer chapter! I want to make them much more frequent now that I actually made one. I love Summer so much and if season 3 doesn't include more of her, I will pop a gasket.
> 
> Thanks for reading and please review if you enjoyed!


	15. Bosnack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thanks for all the reviews and kudos! I love and appreciate all of them!
> 
> School's starting up again! Here's a chapter to get everybody back in the swing of things!
> 
> Enjoy!

One cold morning, Morty awoke on his own terms. He woke slowly, consciousness slowly crawling back to him. Tugging his blankets on over his shoulders, he lay in bed for a few more minutes and allowed himself to become a bit more roused. Figuring that his body was now accustomed to waking at the crack of dawn, Morty decided to stay under the warmth of his covers and wait for Yhlari to come knocking on his door for training.

Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes later, Morty couldn't stand it anymore and looked at his phone clock. Not only was it about six thirty, but Yhlari had never gotten him.

A month earlier, he would have leapt of of bed and sprinted down the hallway, hollering his head off about some unknown danger. Now, he couldn't find it in himself to be afraid, nor be rushing. With methodic slowness, Morty pushed himself up off his bed, threw on his fresh clothes, and began the long trudge into the depths of the bunker to search for his trainer.

A part of him wasn't worrying, because he already knew where she was. She was in the hanger, spending all her extra time slaving over Rick's ship and looking for broken parts for her to fix. Morty pursed his lips as he rounded the corner and went past the radio room. Rick had never really given a shit about if the ship was broken and only ever fixed it if he really had to, the battle with the police with Fart on the Gear planet being the most egregious example he could think of. Even so, it was as simple as a few repaired tubes and a simple polish. But after she and Summer brought the ship back ten days ago, all Yhlari ever did was devote her time to repair every miniscule mistake. She'd fuss about anything, from the scorch marks on the sides to the rips in the fabric seats Rick had fished from the dumpster behind TGI Fridays. It was as if she expected everything to be perfect just because his grandfather had made it.

"Your grandfather was a slob, no question about it, but I didn't think it'd be that bad," Yhlari rambled one day after training as she and Morty walked back from the weight room. Morty would nod as she went on, only half listening. Her words would echo off the wall and return twice as loud, making it harder for Morty to ignore her. But now, walking down the hall, it was blissfully silent, and Morty allowed himself a moment to relish the peacefulness around him. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he stopped outside the hanger door and, yawning, slipped inside.

As he suspected, his trainer was hard at work on the spaceship. The only thing Morty could see of her were her two feet under the ship as she tinkered with it, humming to herself as she worked. Not wanting to disturb her, Morty waited silently against the wall until Yhlari was finished.

After about ten minutes, she slid back out from under the ship, her powder-blue skin smudged with oil and her white hair streaked with black. She wore a tank top and tan cargo pants, her black boots thick and laced up to her shins. As she stood up and caught sight of him, her purple eyes went wide and she gave a start. "Oh! Geez Morty, I didn't see you there." Yhlari wiped her forehead with the back of her arm, recovering enough to stand up and approach him. "Have a good night's rest?" she asked cheerfully, taking a rag and cleaning her face of oil.

"A-alright," Morty was baffled by her happy mood. It had always seemed like Yhlari never had anything to be excited about, and here she was. Morty could only describe her mood as chipper. Frankly, it was very off-putting. "I w-was just wondering w-why you didn't wake m-me up this m-morning."

Yhlari, meanwhile, had crossed back over to the car and threw open the hood. Morty, growing impatient, made to follow. She picked up a foreign alien tool and stuck it into the gears and machinery, tongue between her teeth as she concentrated. "I thought I'd let you sleep in today. You and Summer have been working really hard so I figured that a few days off of training couldn't hurt. Besides, I want you well rested for today, because we have a special mission."

Curse his visceral reactions to those kinds of statement. At once, his impatience and his frustration dissipated like sunlight cutting through mist. His interest piqued, Morty began to smile. "A sp-special mission?"

Yhlari nodded, slipping the tools into one of her pockets. Morty could see her give one last hard stare to the swirling purple microverse battery before returning her attention to him. "The ship's almost fully repaired, but I was missing things that would put it back at one hundred percent. I had to call in quite a few favors to get the parts that I needed. Let's just say that I'd really appreciate an extra body with me while I went to pick them up."

Morty felt his face fall slightly. "But…but w-why not S-Summer?" he asked, confused.

"Because your sister is too trigger-happy for her own good, and one day it's going to cause trouble. I thought she was going to shoot through half of the crowd at Wilflaj-223," a shadow passed over Yhlari's face, so fast Morty thought he imagined it. "I need someone who's more comfortable around the unknown, not someone who can be used as an extra gun in a shootout. And let's face it; even Summer would agree that you're far calmer around unfamiliar space stuff than she is."

Morty nodded. Made sense, given that he'd definitely been on more adventures with Rick than she had, not that his sister would ever admit her inexperience. Even when Rick relented and let her tag along more, he still had his own grievances with what she could and could not do. Summer still hadn't forgiven him for leaving her in the car with, according to her, a sadistic autopilot; likewise, Rick wasn't keen on letting her forget that she had ruined the "world's best ice cream" through initiating spider-peace.

Since she had come back, Summer had not stopped blabbing on about the two of them breaking the ship out of the Federation outpost. From the way she talked, one would have thought that the entire galaxy had militarized against them. Her story changed with each retelling, becoming more exaggerated and more harrowing until Yhlari heard a few lines about them narrowly dodging the blows of a thirty-story Federation mecha and set the record straight.

The incident was clearly still on Yhlari's mind as she said "Summer can enjoy some quiet time in the bunker. It's time you got some field experience of your own. Go grab your things and meet me in the conference room in ten."

Before he knew it, Morty found himself running through the halls at a much livelier speed than ten minutes ago. He entered the conference room, jacket in hand, and took in the tranquility of the conference room. Someone had left the hologram on, and the planets spun gently in the air, shining like Christmas ornaments. Dust danced through the air, each a minuscule meteor hurtling through a distant star system illuminated by the dull pastels. And so Morty sat to wait. He almost had to sit on his hands as he stared at the worlds above him. Mesmerizing. Captivating. But still so far out of reach.

It didn't take too long before Morty snapped himself out of his trace to find Yhlari standing in the archway. She was shrugging on her coat as if she had just arrived, moving past him and brushing past his shoulder. She looked at him, however, in a way that told him that she'd been standing there for a bit longer than she'd let on. Morty, face burning, made to follow her out the door and back into the cold.

Up the rungs they went, Yhlari leading and Morty a step or two behind her. When they reached the manhole, it took her a few tries to force it open. Sunlight so bright that it was white streamed through the hole in the ice, making Morty flinch away. It wasn't until something brushed against his shoulder that he forced his eyes upwards again. Yhlari had made it up and was extending her hand to him. Morty, beginning to grow offended at his own uselessness, took it and was helped back up to the surface of FR-0284.

Back on solid ground and breathing in surface air for the first time in a week, Morty stared around to see that not much had changed. The landscape unmarked, the sky clear, the big red and green planet hovering in the sky, watching over them like an apathetic deity. With a wordless nudge, Yhlari set out on a path that she clearly knew, leaving Morty walk at her side.

For a few minutes, Yhlari remained silent, but then her purple eyes fell back to him. "Is that your grandfather's?" she asked, nodding to the gun handle sticking out of Morty's pocket.

"O-oh what, t-this?" Morty stammered, his hand clapping his side. Sure enough, it was there. He must've put it in his pocket and forgotten to take it out.

For a moment, Yhlari looked thoughtful. "Summer gave it to you?" was all she said.

"Yeah," the word was less spoken and more exhaled—a cloud of a word so light it floated through the air rather than carried over it. Morty literally watched it drift back up to the stars as his boots crunched over ice.

It had been the day after the two of them had gotten back from stealing Rick's car. Summer had practically cornered him, in her hands a gun that Morty thought he would never see again.

"Just take it," Summer had insisted as she held the gun out to him.

Morty just shook his head stubbornly. "Y-you're the one who f-found it, you t-the one who should k-keep it."

"This isn't finder's keepers, Morty," His sister had never been extremely patient, and it was showing. Her voice wavered for a moment with muted irritation, but she pushed on, trying to be as casual and easygoing as possible. "Look, will you just take it already? I have a gun. Besides, you know that Grandpa Rick… Grandpa would want you to have it."

Whether he was shocked into a stupor or too tired to argue, Morty didn't know. He just went limp as Summer stared. She raised an eyebrow before placing the gun gently into his hands. There was a lull as neither of them made a move. Summer punched Morty softly yet good-naturedly on the shoulder, and then she was gone, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

The memories had a funny taste on his tongue, Morty reflected as he stuck his hand in his pants pockets instead. How many times had Rick killed something with this gun? How many times had _he_ killed something with this gun?

_Do it!_

And then there was that.

_Do it, motherfucker!_

Anything but that.

"S-s-so," Morty took a rattling breath, driving his thoughts down into the back of his mind where they belonged, "what's t-the p-plan?"

It wasn't subtle enough, however. Yhlari was now looking him up and down, a look of concern heavy on her features. Morty felt his cheeks burn, not really in the mood to be interrogated.

"You okay?" she asked cautiously, as if testing the water.

Morty nodded.

"Cold?"

"A l-little."

Morty could still feel Yhlari's gaze searching him, but he wasn't going to pour his heart out on the way to a potentially dangerous mission. He looked at his feet, studying his steps. After a few seconds, he looked back only to find that she wasn't looking at him anymore. Her eyes set straight ahead, she had begun to pick up her pace, and so Morty did as well. A warm rush of gratitude swept through him.

When he caught up, Yhlari began talking again. "In answer to your question, there isn't much of a plan to go on. We go, we wait, we get out of there. You could have done it on your own if I thought he was going to show up on time."

Morty squinted; the dive was starting to appear, teeny and blurred, over the horizon. "Who's he?" he interjected.

"A higher-up of a gang of intergalactic junkers. They're basically the type that go around jacking ships, pulling them apart, and returning the scraps for profit. The Federation despises them. Lost a lot of good ships to junkers. As a result, there's been a major crackdown on them. I'm pretty sure only, like, five or six big groups remain. It drives the Gromflomites insane that they can never catch them."

"So, they're g-good guys? They h-help the rebellion?" Morty asked.

"Ain't no such thing as a good junker, Morty," Yhlari shook her head. "We had more of a tolerance for each other. An 'enemy of my enemy is my friend' type of deal. To give you some sort of idea, your grandfather would have made an excellent junker. He'd get a hundred holo-vites from them every single month, begging like dogs for Rick to lend them a hand with some project or another."

Morty cocked his head in confusion. "So w-why make f-friends if they w-w-were so m-much trouble?"

"He might call me a friend, but that's not what we are," Yhlari said, sounding like she was grinding her teeth. "I've gotten his over-bloated ass out of trouble so many times that he should be kissing the dirt treads off my boots when he sees me. Frankly this has been long overdue and he knows it. Knowing him, he might try to weasel his way out of this. Whatever you do, don't say anything and _don't_ draw that gun. Let me do the negotiating; you're just here to learn and help me bring the stuff back. Understood?"

Well, that wasn't exactly promising. Nevertheless, Morty nodded obediently and kept his mouth shut. By now, they had reached the dive Yhlari allowing Morty to duck in first as she pulled back the curtain for him.

As they entered the dive, the customers shivered at the incoming winds. It wasn't crowded today, just two aliens sitting at the blackjack table, looking unstimulated. A drawling tune leaked out of the record player, slow and listless. The creature at the bar stared at the two patrons it had with it's head propped up on its elbows but immediately became alert as the two of them crossed the room. "Morning, Yhlari," it greeted them, "the usual?"

Yhlari shook her head. "Not today, Wuthlo. I'm here on business, nothing else."

Wuthlo the bartender looked put out until it's eyes drifted over Morty. "What about him?" it asked.

Yhlari glanced at Morty, looking thoughtful, and finally answered "small rum and coke. As close to Earth's kind as you have. Put it on my tab. We might be awhile; you don't mind, right?"

Wuthlo shook its head, one sweeping tentacle motioning to an empty table in the corner. Morty and Yhlari collapsed gratefully into the spindly chairs while Wuthlo passed Morty his drink. As he took a sip, Yhlari leaned back on the back legs of the chair and propped her boots on the top. Out of the corner of his eye, Morty could see Wuthlo shake its head behind the counter, shooting a glare at Yhlari's snowy feet.

"N-now what?" Morty asked between sips.

Yhlari's face was expressionless. "And now we wait," came her sigh.

And wait they did. And wait, and wait, and wait, and wait some more. They were waiting for so long that Morty swore he was going to be as old as Rick by the time anyone actually showed up. The blackjack aliens left, only to be replaced by new ones. Others filed in and out on random, but only he and Yhlari stayed for longer than a half an hour. Outside, the winds appeared to be picking up steam, throwing themselves at the dive and whistling through the cracks in the walls. Wuthlo turned up the heater to full blast to please a group of cold-blooded Trorgroths who were howling due to their discomfort, and soon the place was stifling. Morty had to peel off his ski jacket to stop himself from frying like a Hot Pocket, still sticky as trickles of sweat ran down his back. Despite all that, Yhlari remained immobile, her position the same as when they had started, eyes fixed on the door as the storms outside raged.

More than once, Morty questioned if her clients were still going to make it through the storm. It was always a gamble to ask. Half the time, Yhlari didn't answer. The other, she only gave a vague explanation. "He's coming," she would say, "because he's going to get a boot up his ass if he doesn't."

Finally, after two hours of waiting, the clients stepped through the door.

Morty, who was drinking the last of his now warm rum and coke, nearly choked as a group of aliens burst through the curtains. There were three of them, one on either side of their leader. The first two were blue and purple aliens with no visible mouths and too many eyeballs, but they were unremarkable in comparison to the third. He was so tall that the horns on the top of his head left marks in the ceiling of the dive. He was covered in dark, mismatched clothes and furs with a gold chain holding up his pants. His head was huge, scaly, and so red that he looked like a walking stop sign. A long tail dragged behind him, trailing snow. Scars and burns crisscrossed his arms like roads on a map. But the thing Morty really noticed were his eyes. Four of them, each a bright, poisonous green. He had a stare of acid as he looked around the room, burning through every patron in their seats. Most shied away, and even Morty found it difficult to hold his gaze for even a second.

When the leader spoke, Morty was surprised to hear a squeaky shout come out from his mouth, like the creature had no power behind his staggering size. "N'Geeflo! I'm looking for N'Geeflo! You here, old friend?"

Slowly, as if in a dream, Yhlari raised her hand.

Suddenly, before Morty could comprehend what was happening, the three of then were clomping over to the corner where they sat, looking ecstatic. Each time they stepped, Morty felt his seat rattle, and he had to grip the table as to not topple over. The red alien took a seat and sat down, and Morty thought he heard the chair screech in protest as such a heavy wait was dropped upon it. The leader then passed the blue alien a coin and jerked his head towards the jukebox with a sick smile on his face. His lacky shot out of the seat as if it had been electrocuted, scurrying over to the other end of the dive. A much faster song began to play. Morty felt his heart beat in tune with the thrumming bass and refusing to settle down.

"Well I'll be damned! Didn't think I'd see ya again!" the red alien exclaimed. Morty could see it's teeth now. He counted five gold ones. "How's this hunk-a-junk treating ya, eh N'Geeflo?"

Yhlari said nothing. In fact, she hardly looked interested in what the alien was saying. All she did was raise her head. "Bosnack," she greeted him coolly.

Bosnack's smile grew wider. "Good grief, N'Geeflo, the weather outside wasn't this cold! That's hardly a way to treat an old friend!"

"Cut the shit Bosnack," Yhlari drummed her fingers on the table, "I called in those favors for one reason only. You'd be wise to give me what I want."

Bosnack's smile flickered for a heartbeat, all enthusiasm and friendliness vanishing from his face for a spilt second. He recovered fairly quickly, but Morty could still see the way his green eyes grew stony and his smile grew strained. "I haven't seen ya in seven years, N'Geeflo. The least you could do is take a drink with me. One time, as old friends."

For several seconds, they said nothing. Morty could feel the electricity of the tension between them, making the hairs on his arms stand on end. Bosnack's two lackeys began to look around idly, and Morty was tempted to follow their lead until Yhlari broke the standoff with a brisk but reluctant nod.

Wuthlo was fast. In a minute, drinks were deposited in front of them. Yhlari had ordered something that looked suspiciously like a sex on the beach. The lackeys both got something frothy and sudsy, with bubbles that floated into the air and had popping sounds like whoopee cushions. Bosnack got a drink as red as his skin, and as he sipped it, his claws dug into the table and started grinding out four large ruts. His smile seemed half-forced; too broad and too toothy. The tail would give an occasional thump; to Morty, it was like drumming a foot. A sign of impatience. Hiding behind his second drink, Morty became a silent observer as Yhlari and Bosnack began to talk once more.

"So, N'Geeflo," Bosnack made the first move at conversation, "how's the cold treating ya?"

"Do you have the supplies I need?" Yhlari asked.

Bosnack's expression didn't change, but he did thump his tail once. "Straight to the point and no time for detours. You haven't changed, have ya, N'Geeflo?"

"Do you have the supplies I need?" Yhlari repeated, this time through clenched teeth.

Another thump of the tail. "Of course I do, they're out back in the ships," Bosnack's voice was starting to have an edge to it. "You're lucky that my boss had some spares he was willing to part with."

"And you're lucky that I managed to save both of your behinds from intergalactic scrotum-yanking about ten years ago. I assume you haven't been doing anything to keep your record clear since all of that, have you?" In about a month and a half of knowing her, Morty had never heard Yhlari sound so angry.

Bonack's eyes narrowed into slits of neon, though his smile still remained intact. "I'll have you know, we were perfectly capable of handling our own problems, thank you very much."

"Would you still be saying that from behind the walls of the Federation's prison systems?" Yhlari retorted. "Somehow, I don't think you would be."

It was like the temperature of the room had dropped ten degrees. Bosnack's smile flickered. His lackeys exchanged frightened glances between each other, then returned to their drinks with bowed heads. Even Wuthlo—Morty suspected he was keeping one ear open to their conversation—gave an involuntary flinch and nearly dropped a mug.

Bosnack leaned forward. "Listen, we don't talk about what could've and what couldn't've," he hissed. "Those bugs out in the center galaxy, there's something different about them right now. Federation's got a new spring in their step. Been sending more and more people off to the big houses. And the reason for it? Well geez, N'Geeflo, I don't expect you to know. You've been hiding out in the furthest hole in the galaxy for who knows how long." When Yhlari didn't answer, Bosnack kept talking. "It's because of Sanchez. You remember Sanchez. They nabbed him not too long ago at some place called the Plim Plom Tavern. And after that, the Federation must be feeling pretty empowered; rumor has it that they're already cracking him."

Morty's hands slipped on the glass.

"I'm not going to act like Sanchez never had the brains to not get caught, because who would I be kidding with a statement like that?" Bosnack's lackeys let out guttural squawks that Morty supposed was laughter, "most brilliant mind I've ever seen. But have you ever met someone as stubborn as him? I swear, you could put the man in front of a wall, and he would scream at it until it crumbled. You ever heard the term 'an unmovable force versus an impenetrable object'? No? I know Sanchez enjoyed throwing that one around. Some sort of Earth term. Anyways, the Federation's probably enjoying their victories. Sipping from the golden chalice of apprehending their biggest leech in five hundred years."

Now, Morty had made a lot of dumb decisions in his life. This next one ranked somewhere up in the top ten. Hell, maybe top five.

"Y-you act like t-the Federation's unbeatable," Morty blurted out, "but th-they're not."

Eight pairs of eyes swooped in on him. Bosnack's eyes seemed to burn holes right through his head as they locked gazes. "And who'd this little splick be, N'Geeflo?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.

About twenty eyeballs bored into him as they waited for an answer.

"I-I…I-I'm Morty S—ugh—Smith," Morty had to hide a wince as Yhlari kicked him from under the table.

At first, Bosnack looked thoughtful, but then his expression turned positively delighted. His lip curled with some sort of happiness that Morty couldn't pinpoint. "I know you," he said at last. "You made quite a name for yourself out in the Klacktrack nebula. What, don't like me insulting your grandfather, eh? The great Rick Sanchez being revered by a kid, from a species so new to the galaxy that they probably haven't even gone further than their fucking satellites."

More squawks from Bosnack's crew. Shrugging off Yhlari's hand, Morty felt his geyser begin to burst again. "At least R-Rick didn't e-end up with you a-assholes," he snapped back.

"And do you know why Sanchez didn't want to be a junker, kid?" Bosnack challenged. "Because he was a coward. He was a filthy, stinking coward. He'd throw his own friends under the bus if it meant that he'd get a few bucks off of it. He didn't want to be a junker because he was scared of the Federation, and what they would do to him if they caught him. Clearly he was right to worry. I mean, have you heard the rumors about him? Crazy shit going on there. How must it feel, knowing you did everything to protect yourself and still ending up getting nabbed?"

Morty's stomach felt like it was tying itself up in knots. "R-Rick w-was twice t-the m-…guy y-you'll ever b-be."

The alien reared back and laughed. It was large and ugly, like the rest of him. When he was done, he threw his hands on the table and thrust his head towards Morty. "Oh, is that so? Then why is he stuck in prison? I'll tell you why, Morty Smith: because Sanchez has something you pesky humans all have. You all care too much about yourselves. I have a crew, and hundreds of others to protect. We ride together, and we die together. And your _grandfather_ was more than happy to let others take the fall for him. He did it with the rebels, he did it with his friends, and apparently he did it to his own stinking family. And when he had no one else, Sanchez couldn't handle it. Do you humans have no sense of pride? No spine, the lot of you. Well, because of that, the entire galaxy's doomed. Sanchez had enough knowledge crammed into that little head of his to wipe out an entire armada; imagine what the Feds could do it that? And Sanchez? He probably'll just give up, and hand it over. Because you know what? You and your planet are just like the rest of them! The Federation's newest bitch, and he knows it! Bet your grandfather woulda liked that, eh-?

"Bosnack!"

There was a momentary pause, and thus Morty fell back to Earth with an unpleasant bump. His heart was thumping so hard in his chest he was afraid it was going to burst out and hit the junker right in his ugly scaly face. Bosnack was inches from his nose, a furious expression etched onto his face that was only now relaxing. On either side, his lackeys had grabbed one arm apiece in an attempt to stop their boss from leaping at him. Yhlari had also made to move, her hands on Morty's shoulders as if she was preparing to through him back against the wall. Slowly, Bosnack fell back, brushing himself off. Morty could still feel his hot breath on his face as if the alien was still close by. Bosnack's claws had dug two-inch grooves out of the table from where he had gripped it.

At long last, Yhlari cleared her throat. "Now that you've made a scene, Bosnack, I suggest you give us what we came for and let us get on our way."

And made a scene they had. Every patron was staring at the five of them. Even Wuthlo had dropped all it's pretenses of subtlety and was watching unabashed at the scene unfolding in front of it.

Bosnack brushed himself off again. Even though he looked no less furious, he seemed to get the message and jerked his head to the door. He and his lackeys stood up and made for the exit. Yhlari followed close behind, eyes resembling purple ice. Last came Morty, and it took a lot for him to unstick his fingers from the handle of his gun as he made to join them.

-X-

Bosnack's ship was magnificent. For how dirty it's owner seemed, it was surprisingly clean and sleek, with red and black decals and thrusters that would burn five feet holes in steel. With a snap of his fingers, the lackeys opened the cargo hatch and slipped inside. They returned with metal crates that were easily as big as he was. At first, Morty wasn't sure how they would lug all this heavy machinery home over the ice until one of them pressed a button on the top of the crate. It rose gently about half a foot off the ground and rested in place, waiting for someone to simply push it.

"Alright, N'Geeflo, you're all set. Consider the debts repaid. I don't expect that I'll be visiting for a while, eh?" Bosnack's grin was back, looking more strained than ever.

Yhlari didn't return the smile. Hell, she didn't even return the goodbye. She merely took up on crate and motioned for Morty to do the same. Once they were both in position, they began to move.

It was night by now, and a wind was beginning to pick up, so Morty didn't see Bosnack or his crew when he turned around one last time. They had vanished into the darkness, swallowed by the swirling winds before they had a chance to say one last thing either of them would regret.

For half of the journey, Morty and Yhlari walked on in numbing silence. Finally, Morty couldn't take it anymore, but right as he was about to open his mouth, Yhlari cut back in. "What you did was really stupid, you know."

"B-b-but he was s-saying all t-this stuff that he h-had no idea a-about!" Morty said, appalled. "How c-could you just sit th-there and take i-it!?"

"And you weren't? Look Morty, I get what you're going through, but talk like that is going to get you nowhere." Yhlari huffed, shaking her head.

Starting to feel slightly ashamed, Morty looked away. "Well, w-what was I supposed t-to do?"

Yhlari was silent for a while, finally just sighing. "Do nothing? There's a time and a place for everything, Morty. You've got a lot of weight on your shoulders, you and your sister both. Try not to let if get to you. _You_ know your grandfather best. Not me, and certainly not Bosnack. Just…just trust yourself, okay?"

Morty gave a halfhearted nod, and silence fell again. For a little while longer, they waded through the silence together.

Suddenly, Morty remembered something. "Hey, Y-Yhlari?"

"Hm?"

"Why did Bosnack keep calling you N'Geeflo?"

Much to his surprise, Yhlari let out a laugh but didn't answer. When she still remained quiet, Morty piped up again. "Is t-that your s-species name or s-something?"

"No, dumbass," she said. "N'Geeflo is my last name."

Morty blinked. A last name? He didn't even know aliens had a concept of last names. "S-so why d-did B-Bosnack call you t-that and not by y-your, y-you know, a-actual name?"

"What, you'd think I'd actually give someone like Bosnack my actual name? Sheesh, Morty, have some faith in me." Yhlari teased.

Morty laughed hollowly. Yhlari's smile faded over the next couple of steps. On they trudged. Ice crunched underfoot, keeping the tempo of their journey. The red and green planet was just visible over their heads.

"Alright, Morty, my turn to ask a question," the alien spoke once more. "Ready?"

Morty mumbled "yes."

"How old were you when you first set foot off of Earth?"

What a strange question. Morty didn't have a lot of time to dwell on it. He really just wanted to get out of the cold by now. "Fourteen," he answered.

Yhlari hummed her acknowledgement. Morty turned to her, "Well, how old were you?"

She blinked once, then twice, then three times. "My species, we keep track of time differently then yours do. But if I think hard about it and put it in human years…I'd say I was probably close to your age, give or take."

That surprised Morty. Yhlari seemed to have a worldliness about her, like she had been to every corner of the galaxy and lived to tell its tales, for better or for worse. He didn't realize how young she must've been to get her start. "And did you like it?" he asked.

"You and I left our home worlds for very different reasons, Morty," and just like that, Morty could hear the exhaustion in his trainer's voice. As if an entire lifetime's worth of tales and worldliness and other bullshit had settled itself onto her shoulders.

And in that moment, walking there through the winds under the watchful eyes of the distant stars, Morty finally felt as though he was not truly walking alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this chapter and please review if you enjoyed!


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